Crossing the Horizon
by Thermit
Summary: They were pieces on different gaming boards-a queen who refused to play and a knight who played by his own rules. But, succession is never easy, especially when allies are more dangerous than enemies and enemies gather like crows. More than dragons or steel, Merida asks a dangerous request: Hiccup, tell me about the legend in your tribe of the boy and the dragon with one tailfin.
1. Act of War

Disclaimer: I don't own Hiccup or Merida, obviously. I'm not making any money off this. Both characters and the movies they come from belong to Dreamworks and Disney, respectively. If you really want to see something to blow you away, go watch the movies. Then think about these two interacting. Then you'll see what I mean.

* * *

**CROSSING THE HORIZON**

**Act of War  
**

* * *

The spear nearly skewered Hiccup. Only Toothless's lightning fast swerve prevented the young Viking from being spitted like the chickens Gobber and Fishlegs so often favored for their evening meal. Even so, the spear ripped through the side of the loose shirt Hiccup wore and tore the skin from his flesh. The Night Fury shrieked its anger and flared its wings but their enemy was once again concealed in the gloom. The cavern was a claustrophobic maze of stalagmites and stalactites that glittered like teeth in the uneven light cast by the lit sconces on the walls.

"Not so fast while you're grounded, are you?" came Alvin's disembodied voice. The sound echoed oddly in the tight space. Normally, dark places were no challenge for Toothless to hunt in but Alvin had placed rotting carcasses throughout the twisting paths to fool his sense of smell and the rumble of a nearby underground river obscured the sounds of Alvin's movements.

"Not as good as hiding like a scared little rabbit," Hiccup gasped, hand against his side. The wound was more gash than cut but it still burned. He wished he could have worn his leather armor but it wasn't nearly complete yet. "Or should I say a mole since you prefer dark, underground places?" Toothless walked forward soundlessly, nose close to the ground in a vain attempt to discern Alvin's scent. Toothless's breaths came in little pants; Hiccup knew the dragon was getting tired. The Outcasts' ambush on the dragon riders came at the tail end of a long search for the Outcast Chief. He was the key, Hiccup had to remind himself, of ending the fighting between the Vikings of Berk and Outcast Island. Without him, the mission would be for nothing and the fights would continue.

"Mind your tongue, boy!" came a shout that sounded far too close for comfort. Hiccup tried not to jump like a startled elk, but it was a near miss. "We might be mortal enemies but I'm still your elder. I'm still the chief of the Outcast Tribe!" Toothless fired a ball of plasma in answer and succeeded in obliterating a large stalagmite. Beyond it, the Viking Chief was waiting, great axe in hand.

"Really? You're gonna pull rank on me?" asked Hiccup, which, okay, was a bit rich coming from the guy who attempted to kill and/or coerce Hiccup, Toothless and the rest of Berk on a regular basis. But, Hiccup could throw back snark as good as if it were his only weapon (after all, for a very long time it was). "Because from where I'm sitting," here Toothless gave an impressive growl that rolled across the cavern and shook small stones, "it's the same old tired story. How many times have you tried to get me and Toothless but we always get away? It's getting a little boring. "

Strangely, his words did not infuriate the older Viking. Alvin slowly hefted his great axe from one hand to the next, almost considering his words. His dark beard shook, almost as if he were chuckling. But that couldn't be right. "Toothless…?" The way he drawled the words almost made it sound like it ended in a question. "You mean that dragon that you're riding right now?"

Ignoring Toothless continuous growls, Hiccup stared. "Did you hit your head during the fight?" he demanded, before pushing sweat-stained brown locks from his forehead. "Toothless as in my dragon! Now give up before you get any dumber."

"Oh and how's _your _memory, Hiccup?" Alvin sneered.

"I'm not the one forgetting that I've got the large carnivorous, fire breathing dragon on his side!"

"Then you shouldn't have any problems remembering Dagur, will you? Chief of the Berserker tribe? Old friends of yours? Dagur!" His shout rose and resounded in the dark space while Hiccup's heartbeat raced and simultaneously sank to his toes. His worst fears were confirmed moments later when Dagur stepped out from a hidden crevasse, his face slack with shock and terrible rage.

Toothless hissed but Hiccup kept him steady, kept him calm. "Dagur, let's talk about this," began Hiccup desperately. "We don't have to—"

"So the rumors were true… all true!" Dagur screamed, spittle flying and eyes lit with anger. "I laughed when I heard that you killed the Red Death… that you tamed a Night Fury." He walked closer and closer, his movements jerky in his rage, but at least he hadn't drawn his double axe either. "Not Hiccup, I told them, that scrawny little imp that I used to try pushing off of cliffs and ice bergs when we were little."

The memory of a myriad of diplomatic visits from Dagur and his father, the kindly Osvald the Agreeable, filled Hiccup's thoughts and caused him to flush. Dagur had been sadistic then and as an adult, Osvald could no longer curb his son's tendencies. The only way Berk had been able to keep their alliance with the Berserkers was by outright lying to them about taming dragons. Dagur itched for a fight, all but insulted Stoick and threatened Hiccup on several occasions… But in the end, the letter of the alliance between the sister tribes kept Dagur from declaring war.

"You're a shame to our lineage," Dagur spat. "I can't believe that any descendant of Grimbeard the Ghastly would ride dragons." Hiccup tried to interrupt, but Dagur's voice crescendoed. "You broke the treaty! Our alliance is dissolved!" Finally, he seemed to calm. His chin dipped down and his horned helm lowered. There was a moment's silence before he said in a whisper that struck Hiccup like a hammer, "The Berserker Tribe considers this an act of war." When Dagur lifted his face, he was grinning that manic smile he wore whenever he tried to drown Hiccup when they "played" by the river. The small throwing axe was flung so quickly Hiccup barely had the chance to register it. Again, Toothless's quick reflexes saved Hiccup's face from having a new permanent addition.

Dagur charged them, howling. His famed double axe Hel finally made its appearance. Toothless roared in answer and knocked him down with his fire. But Hiccup was only half paying attention. "Keep him busy, bud," Hiccup whispered. "But watch out for Alvin. You know he's gotta nasty surprise waiting for us." Moments later, Hiccup spotted Alvin while Dagur eyed them warily. Alvin was aiming a spear at them from a high ledge!

"Toothless, now!" Hiccup screamed. Toothless blasted a ball of plasma at Alvin who dove down to escape it. The plasma knocked into a pillar behind Alvin. The ground began to shake and stones began to rain down on them. Hiccup winced. He had been afraid of this.

"We gotta get out of here!" Alvin yelled. He heaved the younger Viking Chief bodily back but Dagur rewarded him instead with the butt end of his axe. "Are you crazy?" Alvin panted, doubled over from the blow. "The cave's collapsing! We're gonna need your men to take that boy and that dragon down. Come on!"

"Don't touch me, you filth!" Dagur said. "You may be a chief, but you're chief of a miserable, rat-infested island. The Berserker Tribe will never accept the Outcasts! The only reason I'm not taking your head off right now is because you told me about this betrayal. Now get out before I change my mind!"

"You pompous dog!" Alvin snarled, drawing his axe. Before the two could engage, a section of the ceiling collapsed and blocked them from Hiccup's sight.

* * *

By the time Hiccup and Toothless found the other Viking youths, the sun was only minutes from sinking into the ocean. "Whoa, you look like dragon dung," greeted Snotlout. The burly Viking teenager pushed himself off from the side of the rock wall where he had been standing guard. A long axe glimmered conspicuously in the dying sunlight. Dragons, as a rule, did not like having their riders carry weapons. As Hiccup trained other villagers to ride their dragons, it was a wariness well-founded. Caution between the two erstwhile enemies and the clumsiness of Vikings unused to taking off unexpectedly from the ground caused many an accident. But as skirmishes and outright battles grew more and more frequent between the Vikings of Berk and the Vikings of Outcast Island, being caught without a weapon, dragon rider or not, was just a death wish.

Hookfang, Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare, dropped down behind its rider, carefully and sinuously flowed past Snotlout, and nosed Hiccup. It sneezed at him and then turned to sniff Toothless curiously. Toothless sighed and began to roll in the ground to get the cloying dirt from his scales. By this time, the other Viking teens had drawn close. Hiccup spotted their respective dragons looking at them from the outcropping. The place the dragon riders had chosen to regroup after their ambush by the Outcasts was on a small, narrow ledge set high against one of the many towering cliffs on the island. It was a hard place to get to without dragons; the only way down was through a treacherous, crumbling footpath. The height also afforded them an easy vantage point; the ledge overlooked desolate rocky hills below peppered with sparse vegetation. An area blasted by fire marked the area the Outcasts ambushed the dragon riders. Near it, Hiccup spotted the entrance to the cavern where Alvin made his quick escape.

"Oh good. That's just what I was aiming for," said Hiccup, rolling eyes. He wiped the mud from his brow but only succeeded in smearing it all over his face.

"You mean you wanted to look like dragon dung?" asked Tuffnut, but it was hard for Hiccup to take offense at that. Tuffnut sported a black eye and he held his arm gingerly. That didn't stop Ruffnut from elbowing him sharply. "Ow! Injured here!" he exclaimed.

"That was a joke, moron," said his twin sister. "Unlike you, Hiccup didn't get his injuries or his dung from stupidly trying to take on three Outcasts without back up." Despite her harsh words, she actually stood closer to Tuffnut than normal, a little protective edge in her stance. It was four years since the incident with the Red Death and his friends had turned from fledgeling dragon killers to skilled dragon riders and formidable warriors in their own right. Well. Most of them. On some days. Still, he trusted their battle prowess more than most and was surprised and dismayed to find that they all bore light wounds—bruises, burns, some cuts.

"But it might still have some camouflage purposes," input Fishlegs, distracting Hiccup from his line of thought. His right eye was turning purple and blue and he held a hand against it. "Did you really need to hide in a pile of dragon dung?" Fishlegs bravely rubbed some of the mud off of Hiccup. "Where were you guys?"

"The cave Alvin was in collapsed so Toothless and I had to find a different exit route," said Hiccup, shaking his sleeves. "The mud is from an underground river we used to get out of the cavern."

"Guys, guys," said Astrid pushing their friends aside. Unlike the others, Astrid only had a small cut on her forehead. At the sight of her, Hiccup softened and he sighed in relief. "Are you okay?" She looked so concerned and for a moment, it felt just like old times that Hiccup almost expected a hug. He even started to move forward. But then Astrid made a minuscule step back and Hiccup was forcibly reminded of the strained distance between them.

There was a beat and, aware of the avidly curious eyes on them, Hiccup responded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good," said Astrid. "I was… That's really good." She shifted from one foot to the other and tapped the handle of her favored double axe. She cleared her throat and said in a much firmer tone, "Alvin got away then?"

"Yeah, but we've got bigger problems," said Hiccup grimly, trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the awkwardness between the two of them. Briefly, he explained to them what happened in the cave. One by one, their expressions turned from curiosity to concern to worry. At the end of his tale, they all exploded with comments simultaneously.

"I knew it was a trap all along!" said Snotlout.

"It was almost too easy to follow his trail," added Fishlegs.

"You're losing your touch, Hiccup," said Ruffnut.

"I thought I saw a Berserker ship," said Tuffnut.

"Wait, so are you telling me that you got a chance to kill Dagur, but you didn't?" asked Astrid, eyes narrowed.

"What?" Hiccup spluttered. "I'm not going to kill him. Who says anything about killing him?"

His friends eyed each other for a beat. Finally, Snotlout scoffed, but Tuffnut shook his head at him. "What?" demanded Snotlout. "Is that not what we're going to have to do?"

"But," Hiccup spluttered. "We weren't even going to kill Alvin. Our mission was to capture Alvin alive so we could force the Outcast Tribe to leave Berk alone."

Tuffnut said, "Well, maybe we can reason with Dagur—"

Ruffnut crossed her arms and sighed, "If Dagur wasn't insane."

"That's sort of an exaggeration," Hiccup protested.

"He wiped out an entire village from a neighboring tribe because one of their boats happened to cross into Berserker waters _even though the boat was empty_," deadpanned Fishlegs.

But Hiccup wasn't looking at any of them. His focus was on Astrid who only shook her head at him. "We can't take any chances. Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruff, Tuff, pair up and track him down on foot."

"Why on foot?" asked Snotlout, unhappy about leaving his dragon. Hookfang growled next to him.

"Because," said Astrid, in a tone that she used right before she punched the next idiot, "as far as Dagur knows, only Hiccup broke the treaty. I'll fly high with Stormfly to scope out the area. It'll be harder to spot one dragon in the sky than five. The last thing we need is for the rest of the Berserkers to see us on dragons. If we get to Dagur before he catches up with the rest of his men, we can stop this war from happening. " Her ice blue eyes roved sternly over the others for a moment daring them to argue. After a beat, the others murmured their agreement and began to move out.

"Wait, what am I supposed to do?" Hiccup asked, frustration coloring his voice.

"Look after our dragons and try not to make a bigger mess," said Snotlout moodily, already heading down the path. Fishlegs, Ruff and Tuff followed closely behind. Astrid paused, already on her bright blue Deadly Nadder. She looked like she wanted to say something but then she sighed in vexation and nudged Stormfly to take off.

Unlike most of Snotlout's casual insults, the words stung unexpectedly. It reminded him of a time when he had been without Toothless and when he had been known as Hiccup the Useless. It had been years since he had heard those words said directly to him and it made his breath catch in his throat. _Focus, Hiccup_, he told himself. _Now is not the time for hurt feelings. Focus on the big picture. We gotta get to Dagur before anyone else gets hurt._

Toothless nudged him, eyes large and anxious. "It's okay, bud," Hiccup whispered. "I think I may have an idea of where Dagur's going. But we gotta beat Astrid and Stormfly there first. Think you're up for it?" Toothless bared his teeth.

* * *

Hiccup spotted Stormfly streaking across the sky following the coastline. Dusk had already fallen across the landscape, which worked well in their favor. Darkness would better camouflage their dragons. The few minutes' lead was all Astrid and Stormfly needed to make a large gap, but Toothless was still the faster dragon and Hiccup the better rider. The distance between the two was slowly lessening but Hiccup wasn't interested in beating them.

"Astrid!" he yelled out, once they were close enough. Either the wind snatched away his words or Astrid chose to ignore him. Hiccup hoped it was the former. "Astrid, you've gotta listen to me!" Astrid was hunched flat over Stormfly. It was the perfect posture to reduce drag and maintain your seat when your dragon was going at top speed; he had taught her that. The memory stung. Hiccup couldn't see her face but he knew that expression well—ice blue eyes narrowed in ferocious concentration.

"Back off, Hiccup!" Astrid said. Abruptly, Stormfly dove. A moment later, Hiccup saw what they were going after. A dark shape was running across the steep cliffs of the island. The high horned helm was a dead giveaway to the young Berserker Chief. Dagur had somehow escaped the collapsing cavern and was trying to cut through the treacherous terrain to the rocky cove beyond. In the gloom, Hiccup could barely make out a Berserker longship filled with men a few leagues away. His men must have regrouped. No doubt they were anxiously awaiting their chief's return.

Toothless followed right behind Stormfly. Hiccup cursed. Just as with weapons training, Astrid trained her dragon with all her passion and intelligence. While Fishlegs and his Gronckle were definitely close, it was Astrid and Stormfly who rivaled Hiccup and Toothless's strong partnership. If Astrid wanted to, Stormfly could give Toothless a run for his money and Astrid was definitely hunting Dagur with her all. It would take a few precious minutes for Toothless to catch up and short of knocking her out of the sky, there was nothing they could do.

Stormfly opened her mouth, her bright magnesium flame flaring like a star.

"Stormfly, no!" Hiccup screamed at the same time Toothless roared and rammed into the Deadly Nadder. Astrid cried out, but the fireball flew to the earth with terrifying speed. The resulting explosion lit up the area with blinding brilliance. It landed just shy of Dagur who was blown off his feet and over the edge of the cliff. Hiccup snatched glimpses of the falling Viking warrior—Dagur's wide, terrible gaze directed at the pair and his soundless screams. Hiccup watched him go as if in slow motion. He could hear Astrid's cry of "Hiccup!" behind him but he didn't listen. Toothless didn't miss a beat and went straight for the Viking Chief.

Toothless and Hiccup were on a vertical dive but it still wasn't enough. They were only halfway down before Dagur hit the water with a sharp crack. Hiccup winced, but slowed Toothless to a controlled descent—less falling and more deliberate dive into the water. The young Viking held his breath when Toothless entered the water with a splash. He counted the seconds—one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven—before Toothless shot into the air again. Hiccup shook the cold, salty water from his hair and eyes.

"Did you get him?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Toothless let out a soft sound. "Good work, buddy. Let's get back to Astrid. I think it's our turn to fear for our lives."

Astrid and Stormfly were waiting for them on the cliff above. Astrid had her arms crossed, motionless. But Stormfly was pacing the cliff agitatedly. The Deadly Nadder screeched belligerently at Toothless as Toothless deposited Dagur carefully onto the ground. Toothless let out a weary growl in return and landed.

Hiccup slid off Toothless and checked Dagur with baited breath. Dagur's arm hung oddly. Hiccup knew, from past experience helping other Viking warriors in the village recently come back from skirmishes and battles, that it was probably dislocated. Dagur was also missing a boot and his lower legs were covered in small burns—no doubt splashes of Stormfly's flame. Dagur's face, usually animated, was slack and incredibly pale. But, incredibly, he still breathed. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow puffs. Hiccup sighed in relief and studied him more closely. In repose, Hiccup could see the likenesses between them. Dagur was only a year older than him and they shared similar features—notably, green eyes and auburn hair. They _were _related, if somewhat distantly, by their great ancestor the Viking King Grimbeard the Ghastly. Without his great horned helm and his axe Hel, Dagur could be mistaken for his cousin more than Snotlout was. Despite his cruelty, Hiccup knew how much Osvald loved his son. Osvald would be worried by now. He heard Astrid approach them

"Is he alive?" Astrid asked flatly.

Hiccup nodded.

"What do you think you're doing?" Astrid asked, her voice as icy as the wind blowing past them. By this time, the darkness had truly set in. Nearby, the Deadly Nadder and the Night Fury circled each other warily, growling. Clouds obscured the moon and the only light to see by were the stars.

Hiccup could trace the familiar planes and curves of her face, but her eyes were a stranger to him now. He stood up, shoulders squared. "Astrid, we can't kill him," he sighed, feeling sick at heart and already very tired.

"You're not stupid, Hiccup," she shot back, her words clipped and precise. "You know there's no other choice. The Berserker Clan is the largest Viking tribe. They have an armada of 50,000 warriors." Her voice lowered but for all that it struck Hiccup more sharply than her matter-of-fact tone. "Dagur isn't like his father. He united the feuding houses of the Berserker Tribe by cutting off the heads of the chieftains-_his own kinsmen! _ All he needs is an excuse to wipe us out, ally or not. You _gave_ him that excuse. We have to kill him. This is the only way."

Hiccup flinched at her words. Everything Astrid said was true. If the Berserker Clan did go to war, oh, he could imagine the consequences, the devastation it would bring to Berk. But still, the thought of killing Dagur, of killing anybody, made him sick. It didn't matter that his friends had, in recent years, been involved in intense battles and had killed enemies in some form or another. All of them, Snotlout, Ruff, Tuff, Astrid and even Fishlegs, had been forced to take a life. It was a normal part, no, a special part of Viking culture. It was just as important as the rite of killing a dragon used to be if not more so. Enmity between dragons and humans could subside, but hostilities between humans would always remain. The first kill was an important part of a Viking's passage into adulthood. But Hiccup could never bring himself to do it, no matter how many battles he was involved in or led his friends to. He always tried to look for another way. He just couldn't kill anyone. He wouldn't. Why couldn't she understand?

"Does it always come down to that?" he asked Astrid, defensive. "I know we're Vikings but can't we get a little more creative?"

Astrid's control finally snapped. "This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" she said, arms straightening. "If we don't kill him, he's going to kill us and wipe out all of Berk and our dragons!" As if sensing her fury, Stormfly's spikes snapped threateningly.

"How do we know that for sure?" Hiccup pleaded, "Osvald and my dad are good friends. Osvald is still technically the chief; he wouldn't go to war against us."

"Maybe that might happen," Astrid admitted. She took a deep breath. Her bangs lifted away and revealed eyes that were serious and anxious. "But we've all heard the rumors. We know that Dagur is really in charge now even if his father isn't dead. Are you willing to gamble all of our lives on your optimism that Dagur, the guy you hated since you were kids, will be understanding?"

"I can't just kill him because I don't like him!" Hiccup shouted, frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know how to make her listen. Beside Hiccup, Toothless flared his wings and bared his teeth at Stormfly.

"_I'm_ not going to kill him because I don't like him," Astrid yelled back, equal frustration in her voice. "I'm not doing this for kicks, Hiccup. I'm killing to protect us all."

Both of them breathed hard, looking at each other. There was a only a few feet of space between them but it might as well have been leagues. No matter how hard Hiccup shouted, he felt that she could only hear the faintest whispers. "We don't even know if he'll survive," he said, trying to inject his voice with some calm. "We need to bring him back to his people."

"Bring him back? Are you crazy!" Astrid said, fists shaking. "If he wakes up, he'll know we have dragons and he'll know we tried to kill him." Stormfly snapped at Toothless who dodged the bite and snarled back.

"What if he doesn't survive?" Hiccup countered. "It's the right thing to do to bring him back. If we don't try to help him, then we've as good as killed him. Do you really want to be the type of person who kills somebody because of what they can or might do? Because using that logic, we should still be killing dragons."

Astrid sighed despairingly, "Hiccup, that's different."

"How can you give dragons a second chance, but not people?" Hiccup asked. Astrid stared at him, jaw tightening. He turned and heaved Dagur back on to Toothless's back. "I'm going down to the beach. Make up some story of having helped Dagur fight off an ambush from Alvin. They'll believe that. They don't trust the Outcasts anymore than we do."

"Hiccup…"

"No matter what, Osvald deserves to know what happens to his son," Hiccup said softly.

* * *

Author's Notes: This story came about when a friend and I were trawling tumblr and happened on a Mericcup post. We just went, "Oooh, that could totally work" and thereafter my brain went on overdrive figuring out how a Highland princess and a Viking dragon rider could possibly meet and under what circumstance. The snippets in Liminality belong to this work.

As mentioned in Liminality, my chapters tend to be super huge. For accessibility, I broke it up into parts with different PoVs. Next up is Merida's part.


	2. Uneasy Alliances

Disclaimer: I don't own Hiccup or Merida, obviously. I'm not making any money off this. Both characters and the movies they come from belong to Dreamworks and Disney, respectively. If you really want to see something to blow you away, go watch the movies. Then think about these two interacting. Then you'll see what I mean.

* * *

**CROSSING THE HORIZON**

**Uneasy Alliances**

* * *

Merida used to enjoy her birthdays. She had many good ones especially as a wee lass. She remembered vividly her father giving her her first bow or her brothers (attempting) to make a cake for her. But the older she grew, the bigger her birthdays became until it was less a personal feast with her loved ones and more of a kingdom-wide social event. She was the only girl she knew who could count her age by the size and sheer spectacle of her birthday celebration.

It wasn't that Merida hated spectacles as a rule. She enjoyed the games, the food and, in general, she liked the company of their unruly neighbors. She loved dancing the eightsome reel, especially when her father and brothers joined in. But now that she was dancing the strathspey, a young lord on either side of her, Merida remembered why, exactly, she disliked her birthdays nowadays.

Unlike the vigorous eightsome reel, the strathspey was a slower, statelier court dance. The eightsome reel required concentration on movement; there were no finer dancers on the floor than Merida and the young lords then. The strathspey allowed for talk; Merida couldn't have been more awkward if she'd tried. It didn't help that her partner for a few minutes, Alan MacGuffin, spoke not a word though most dancers were talking round them. He alternated between looking at her as if she might grow two heads and eat him or tripping over his own feet. Or perhaps he was tripping over the sheer awkwardness hanging over them. Merida felt like she could barely breathe in it.

"Which dance do you like better?" she asked, finally. "I prefer the eightsome reel myself."

Alan mumbled something that was too low for her to understand.

"Uh, could you repeat that again?"

The boy, though already nearing his father's girth and stature, only blushed furiously and glanced at Lord MacGuffin. Lord MacGuffin nodded encouragingly at his son before turning back to Lord Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Merida's mother Queen Elinor.

"It's insulting," continued Lord Macintosh, his voice loud even over the music and the sound of dancing feet. In honor of the princess's birthday, Lord Macintosh had deigned to change to a new kilt that looked exactly the same as his old one. (Lady Macintosh proclaimed the newness of the kilt in lofty tones; her father whispered its identical appearance to the old kilt in her ear). "He didn't even write back after you invited him—a courtesy no outsider, especially a _Roman_ can—"

"Your eyes," said Alan. The words came in a rush like an arrow being loosed from a bow or water gushing from a newly dug well.

Merida refrained from jumping—but only just. "Err, yes?"

Alan stared at her face desperately as if trying to read a foreign language. "They're so..." he coughed, face red, and then said something in Doric too quickly for Merida to catch. At her raised brow, he took a deep, painful breath and said in slow, formal Gaelic, "Your eyes are... there's... there's two of them."

"Thank you?" She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or an observation—and so wasn't sure whether it was safe to laugh. Alan turned as red as her hair and for a moment he genuinely looked as if he might faint. A mad impulse to escape flitted through her. She was sure there was a loophole in a princess's etiquette that allowed her to leave in the middle of a dance to avoid being crushed to death. But the young heir to Clan MacGuffin was a decent dancer and he spun her away in time to the beat. Merida focused her eyes to their surroundings to give him a chance to recover.

Near the line of dancers, Merida saw Elinor hold up a hand, a gesture that silenced Lord Macintosh. The queen of the Highlands looked especially lovely tonight. Merida's mother wore a deep purple gown trimmed in gold and her glossy brown hair was fashioned in complicated braids that enhanced the golden crown on her head. "General Titus has already told us that his son is coming to visit him from the capital. Considering that he hasn't seen the boy in twenty years, milord can excuse the general's absence."

"Why wouldn't he—" began Lord Macintosh, face flashing contrition then curiosity.

"A dozen hunters must have worked for weeks to gather this much food," said Alan. Merida swung her eyes back to the young lord. His face had gained a modicum of calm but his palms, when their hands touched, was clammy and sweaty.

"Mhmm," responded Merida. Elinor had tried to include Merida in her birthday preparations but Merida was more interested in exploring the new ruins she'd found than assisting her mother. Truthfully, Merida had only a vague idea of the preparations made for her birthday.

Still, Alan's generous estimate couldn't have been far from the mark. The high table was laden with King Fergus's favorite dishes—roasted fowl, leg of sheep, thick slabs of steak. Flagons of ale and mead were placed prominently near the king's seat. Fresh strawberries, fragrant apples, succulent pears and warm, fresh-baked cakes were piled near Merida's end. No doubt Elinor had instructed it just so that the young princes could not so easily get to the desserts. However, judging by the empty seats and the untouched haggis on the princes' plates, Merida could see that her brothers found their dinner elsewhere. All the tables in the hall were groaning under the weight of similar dishes. Elinor could not possibly hope to keep her sons from all of them.

"The kitchens must have spent all of yesterday and today cooking and baking and roasting and stewing." The young Lord MacGuffin was calmer now and his movements were less jerky as he made some trifling observations about the hall. Merida inclined her head. This was better than his awkward compliments even if it was dull as a box of rocks. That was the trouble with Alan. He was as painstakingly proper and polite as if Elinor herself had just roasted him for three hours straight and he'd come out with one of the Queen's teaching rods jammed up his backside. Any deviation for the norm, even something as slight as a little compliment, made him blush and stutter like a mincing virginal lass.

They swept past the lords and Queen Elinor once more. "I don't know why you'd even want _Romans_ here," Lord Dingwall said, pronouncing Roman like a curse. "This is the largest gathering of the clans. With Clan DunFell sworn under the king's banner, all clans, small and great, are now unified into one kingdom. We've never been stronger. Best not to let Romans see that."

"Sworn, aye, " said Lord Macintosh, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't trust DunFell's word. I've heard too many tales of raids and nighttime slaughters. My people in the borders are terrified."

"But all stand to gain with my Lady Queen's trading agreements in place," Lord MacGuffin interrupted.

"Especially since we've agreed to continue fostering," added Lord Dingwall. "When will the princess return to us? Milady Dingwall is most eager to—"

They switched partners. Niall, pale blond hair standing shockingly upright, grasped her arm, swung her around and moved back in perfect time with the music. In contrast to young MacGuffin's soft, almost meek hold, the young Lord Dingwall gripped her with firm fingers that belied his hidden strength. Merida had been dreading this encounter ever since her hasty escape from Clan Dingwall's ancestral home.

"Lord Dingwall," murmured Merida courteously as they joined hands and performed the steps. Niall merely stared at her, unblinking. She couldn't read his expression and it made the girl uneasy. The two circled around a different couple.

"Did you know that different wood makes different sounds even if you make the same kind of fiddle?" Niall asked as their hands joined then parted.

"Erm, what?" asked Merida brushing her loose hair back as she circled round him.

"Nothing. It looks like a full moon tonight."

"Oh, I thought you said something about a fiddle."

"Fiddles? Who talks about fiddles these days? Is that silly? That's so silly. I was commenting on ducks. They're so cute. And delicious."

"Uhh, yes. Ducks are quite good," Merida said. "I'll let my mother know you like ducks."

"The Queen likes ducks too?"

"Yes."

"Oh," he smiled at with a grin a trifle too broad. Then, just as suddenly as he began the conversation, he dropped his smile and stared at the musicians located near the throne. Merida was left to flounder in the silence.

Merida never quite knew what to expect of Niall. He was the smallest of her suitors and shorter than her, but his size and dreamy mien hid an almost comically terrifying ferocity when roused. He spoke sparingly and when he did, his comments were often nonsensical or entirely out of the blue. Of all the people Merida had seen Niall interact with, it was only with his father, Lord Dingwall, and Osgar Macintosh that Niall managed entire, though brief, conversations.

But other times… Say, for instance, when he cornered her in gardens with his harp in hand…

"You dance well, Princess," said Lord Dingwall's son.

"Thank you, Niall," she said, snapping to attention. Niall merely stared at her unblinking. Merida bit her lip and added, "Ah, you do too."

"I never thought much of dancing before I met you."

"Oh, thank... you?"

"This may be hard to believe, but I've never had training."

"That is hard to believe."

"This is what happens when the music flows through me. It's inspired by nature, by butterflies, by birds, by Osgar."

"Say what?"

"Um, nothing. I've never danced with Osgar before. He never taught me. This is all me. What a silly thing to suggest, Princess," he burst into high-pitched laughter.

"Okay..."

Niall blushed furiously and focused his gaze on the tables surrounding them. Merida waited a few moments before she was sure Niall wouldn't speak again. If he kept dropping out of the conversation like this, then he wouldn't have time to bring up Merida's abortive fostering with the Dingwalls.

Merida had been staying just over a month at the Dingwalls when she started feeling uncomfortable. The first few weeks of her visit went as smoothly as Queen Elinor could have hoped. Lord and Lady Dingwall, though overbearing, were affable and welcoming. Merida, conscious of the freedom she owed to the Dingwalls' good graces and even more conscious of her responsibilities as a princess, was receptive to their attention. A small part of the princess even looked forward to the change. She had never lived away from DunBroch and, while a large part of her would miss her family, there was a small, but insistent side that wondered what it would be like to live away from them.

It only took a few days for Merida to see why their only son was so quiet and reserved. His father took exceptional pride in his heir's martial achievements and encouraged him to practice without regard to his son's apparent love of music. Merida remembered vividly Niall's wide eyes when she told Lord Dingwall that _of course_ she would like to hear Niall's playing. She knew, perhaps more than anyone, how suffocating it felt to not be heard.

After two weeks of listening to Niall's practice and encouraging him to stand up for himself, Niall had started turning up wherever she walked. In castle halls or shaded paths in the woods, she'd hear a noise, turn and catch a glimpse of his pale hair. Once, she'd nearly tripped over him when she exited her room in the morning. Merida wouldn't have minded the company so much except Niall almost always disappeared right after. It was disconcerting, puzzling and a little bit alarming. The garden serenade tipped it from eccentric to creepy. He never blinked or looked away from her as he sang a song about a shepherd's deep commitment to his sheep.

Merida beat a hasty escape from Clan Dingwall that very night. In the months since, Niall's letters to her, for the young lords must always write to her, was as brief and as strange as his conversation ("Today I realized that if you lick someone's elbow while they're not paying attention, they won't notice"). Tonight was the first time she'd seen Niall Dingwall face to face and it seemed as if he intended to continue his polite silence regarding the fiasco.

Merida couldn't have been more grateful. She gave Niall a small smile that he carefully avoided and relaxed enough to let her gaze wander. That was when Merida realized how many faces were turned their way—speculative and assessing. Many ducked their heads as soon as the princess caught sight of them, but Merida's expression froze nonetheless. Merida was used to attention; how could she not? She was the first born of Clan DunBroch, the highest born lady of the land. Still, she could feel traces of shame creeping along her cheeks.

Rumors of her allergic reaction to the sheep raised by the Dingwalls (a little lie that still made her blush with embarrassment and her mother with irritation) spread like fire after her return to DunBroch. Her brothers laughed themselves sick as soon as they heard. Alan wrote to say how sorry he was to hear of her illness. Osgar promised to slay ever sheep of that breed in her name.

Almost as if he was reading her thoughts, Niall said, "You remind me of a sheep."

"Pardon?" Merida said eloquently, fighting the urge to flinch.

"I made a song in honor of your beauty."

Elinor would know what to say. Merida's mother never lost her composure or the right words. But Merida? She could feel her stomach squirming. She opened her mouth but no words came. Instead, Merida coughed awkwardly and looked at everywhere but him.

Niall didn't seem to mind. "You must come back and continue your visit to our hall," he said earnestly, eyes peering intently into hers. "We—we changed our herd of sheep. I even burned my clothes and got new ones in case the wool made you sick."

Merida fought the urge to cringe and laugh at the same time. Behind Niall, she could see Lord Macintosh and Lord Dingwall continue speaking to her mother. She caught her mother's eye. It was only her mother's almost imperceptible eye roll that relaxed Merida enough to respond courteously, "It was a pleasure to visit your hall, milord. My mother the Queen is still deciding when to continue my visit." Niall twirled her around, and Merida nearly lost her balance.

"Aye, and you should continue your visit with Clan Macintosh," said Osgar Macintosh, claiming Merida's hand as her partner. They missed a step due to Merida's stumble. Osgar recovered quickly and flicked his hair just so. Nearby, a group of girls swooned. Merida hid a snort. Lean Osgar Macintosh with his glossy black hair and showy swordsmanship thought himself the handsomest man in the Highlands and perhaps he was. The problem was that he was just as much in love with himself as the rest of the girls were. "In our last great hunt, I killed the largest boar you've ever seen. If you come to our hall, I will personally show you the head of this fell beast and sing you the ballad of that hunt."

He tipped his head and sang a few lines loud enough to attract the attention of nearby dancers. Several ladies clapped enthusiastically.

"Oh, you don't—"

"Shh," Osgar pressed a finger against her lips. "I know what you're going to say. But you just have to wait to hear more. I can't give it all away at once."

Merida jerked her face away from his finger. "That would be…" she took a moment to make sure her voice would not layer her next word with sarcasm. "A treat."

Osgar dipped her, an unexpected flourish that made her gasp, and he winked at the lady standing in the sideline just behind Merida. He pulled her back up again, far too close, and extended his hand so she'd spin out, her skirt flaring. Merida glimpsed a blur of faces watching them.

"Look at the two of them," murmured Lady Macintosh quite loudly from the sidelines. She nodded approvingly at Merida and Osgar as they passed her.

Her daughter, the beautiful Helen, said in a more appropriate volume, "They dance well together."

_Shows what you know,_ Merida thought, turning her head to the side so they wouldn't see her scowl. Helen Macintosh was Queen Elinor's ward for the past few months. After the fiasco of Merida's betrothal festival, Elinor sought to soothe the tension between the various clans by committing once more to the tradition of fostering. Merida was sent to the Dingwalls, as a nod of recognition to the Dingwalls' right to have Merida's hand under the old laws. Niall Dingwall's close cousin, Cesan, was sent to the remote fortress hall of the MacGuffins. Alan MacGuffin's younger brother Gordon was sent to the Macintoshes under Osgar's tutelage. Helen, Osgar's young sister, already famous for her beauty and her genteel manners, was sent to be Elinor's ward.

Merida suspected that Elinor wanted Merida to have a companion who was closer to her station in life in the hopes of making her transition to adulthood more bearable. It was one of the few miscalculations Elinor had ever made as Queen.

When Merida was first told of Helen's fostering in DunBroch, she imagined somebody like the boys except less disgusting. She hadn't expected someone who shadowed Elinor's every move, listened with rapt attention to every lesson and who imitated Elinor so perfectly. Having the girl attend to her was like having a miniature disapproving Elinor chained to her hip. It wasn't long before Merida gave up on befriending the girl and took to avoiding her like the plague.

In the end, it wasn't much different from how Merida treated Helen's brother. Except Merida had no good excuse for ignoring him seeing as he was supposed to be winning her heart. Frustration lanced through her chest at the absurdity of their position juxtaposed by the eager, watchful faces around them.

"Who's the latest supplicant?" Merida asked, interrupting him midstream from describing his newest warhorse. She meant to keep her tone playful, but her irritation edged her voice into something decidedly less friendly. "I heard you left Lady Mary absolutely brokenhearted from a tryst with her cousin Lady Rielle."

He blinked, surprise and a flicker of something else breaking his perfectly handsome, perfectly besotted smiling face gazing down at her. "Your jealousy flatters me, but those are only ugly rumors."

"Who's gonna break it to them?" Merida snorted. "You or me?"

"Everyone knows you're the only one who comes close to my noble features and matches my lineage."

Only years of being grilled on princess-like behavior kept Merida's mouth from dropping at that.

When he spun her around, she saw that they were dancing past a group of young warriors from Clan Macintosh. They raised their hands in toast to their young lord and he greeted it with a genial nod. Beyond them, Merida spotted her father sitting in the throne. The broad, red-haired king was laughing at something Kincaid, his most trusted war chieftain, said. They shook hands and Merida could guess they had just placed a bet on something—probably something the Queen wouldn't like hearing about judging by the sneaky smiles on both Fergus and Kincaid's faces.

When Osgar raised their joined hands, Merida had to strain to her tiptoes to keep him from pulling her arm. There was a whistle behind her. When she glanced back, she realized that the Macintosh warriors were eyeing her outstretched form lying against Osgar's lithe frame.

Merida scowled. She was a tool in Osgar Macintosh's arms—an adornment of greater worth than a bracelet but less valuable than a sword. Incensed, she pulled away and was abruptly yanked back. Merida's breath exploded from her as she was crushed against him. She struggled furiously against Osgar's tall frame, hissing, "What are you—"

"Stop moving, princess," Osgar commanded in a low voice. His dark blue eyes were focused elsewhere. "There's something happening at the entrance."

Merida pushed away from him far enough to realize why Osgar had pulled her against him so suddenly. The music had stopped and some of the other couples had bumped into each other. The other young lords had crowded close beside them.

Murmurs rippled throughout the great hall and heads turned. Alan's body blocked her view, but Osgar was able to peer around. "That animal better not show his face," he muttered. Then his grip on Merida tightened and he uttered a low hiss, "What are _they_ doing here?"

"Who is it?" Merida asked, shaking off his grip. When he didn't answer, she stepped forward but was blocked by Niall Dingwall.

"Princess, you shouldn't," he said. His eyes flickered to Osgar's face before continuing. "It's naught to do with us."

"What?" she asked, outraged. He didn't budge; he wasn't even looking at her. At the corner of her eye, Merida noticed her father King Fergus make his way swiftly down the throne followed by Kincaid. He joined Queen Elinor and the clan lords as they made their way to the front. Whispers followed in their wake—loud enough that she could make out some of them. Beside her, the young lords were having their own whispered conversation.

"Half a dozen dirty centurions," Osgar hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't recognize any of them."

"They don't look like simple centurions to me," Niall whispered. "They look… like warlords?" Though he was a head shorter than most, a simple "excuse me" from him was enough to make people move out of his view. The lad cursed underneath his breath and his mouth twisted on the strange, foreign word, "Officers… that's what they call their war leaders."

"The man in the front is a courier from Titus," said Alan, squinting his eyes. He muttered something in Doric, too fast for Merida to hear. At Osgar's frustrated "_What?"_, Alan shook his head and said, "You can tell by the crest on his tunic. But the others... Really good armor and lots of swords and spears."

"Too much for simple messengers," Osgar growled.

Alan shifted to whisper to Niall again and Merida's view was clear. At the entrance to the great hall indeed stood a party of Romans with her mother, father and the clan lords. Nearby, warriors had their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Merida was too far away from them to hear but she recognized the Roman at the very front. He was one of the few scouts the Roman General trusted to make the trip north to deliver correspondence to the royal family.

This was the first time she saw him with more than two other companions, though.

The messenger bowed then gestured to another man behind. He was slight compared to the Highlanders surrounding him, but something in the way he tilted his head to survey his surroundings suggested that he wasn't looking at you so much as he was looking _down_ at you. Whereas his company wore chainmail hauberks or studded leather armor, he wore the scale armor typical of higher-ranking Romans. Underneath, he wore a long sleeved, purple tunic and dark trousers. The dark brown cloak hanging from his shoulders brushed his ankles and was stained by mud and travel. His head was uncovered, though Merida was too far away to make out his features other than short, dark hair and a clean-shaven face.

The man bowed to King Fergus and Queen Elinor and spoke a few words; the messenger hurriedly added his own. Merida realized the messenger must have been translating. As usual, when Merida's father was unsure, he turned to his wife. The king and queen exchanged glances, conversations written in the furrow of his brow and the purse of her lips. The Roman glanced up and spoke a few more words, which the messenger dutifully translated. Queen Elinor responded then curtsied to the man. Behind her, King Fergus nodded reluctantly, though the clan lords merely scowled. Turning, Fergus gestured expansively to the great hall and said loudly, for the benefit of everyone, "Welcome, Lord Andres, to our great hall. We extend you our welcome and bid you partake in our food, drink and company." Queen Elinor clapped her hands and the musicians resumed their playing.

The tension in the room dissolved, though not completely. Osgar took her hand and they began dancing once more. Merida didn't feel much like dancing, but knew that to abandon him in the middle of the song would be shockingly rude. Still, the princess was distracted. While most people in the hall continued their feasting, Merida felt a certain unease in the air. Furtive whispers darted past and many eyes flicked to the Romans who had seated themselves by an empty table or scattered to find food and drink.

"I don't like it," Osgar said. He had been unusually silent throughout their dance and he hardly paid attention to the ladies who were watching him with desperate eyes. He seemed to realize his inattention and gave one lass a knowing grin.

_I don't like you either,_ _but here we are,_ Merida wanted to say. Instead, she breathed out through her nose and asked, in a voice carefully wiped clean of her disgust, "Don't like what?"

"Your Queen Mother is very kind, but to ask Romans to the feast is…" Osgar shook his head. "We have enough trouble with Clan DunFell." His dark blue eyes were cloudy in thought. It was an expression so rare on his face that she had trouble placing it. He blinked when he saw her stare then drew her in, so close that she felt his breath puff at her curls. Merida jerked her head away and glared at him, but he only smiled absently. That was another thing she hated about Osgar. Sometimes she wasn't sure if he was courting, truly courting, or if he was just being an idiot.

Merida spied the Romans still sitting by the table near one of the fires. They were enjoying their food and drink and exchanging excited words with each other. "What's there to be afraid of?" Merida asked. While understanding old prejudices, Merida could scarcely see why the clan lords would feel threatened. Most of her father's warriors towered over all these Romans and there were only a few of them and an army of Highlanders. "I thought you'd like it if it came to a fight," Merida added, her mouth curling, "You've legendary skills with the sword, if the rumors are true."

"I didn't say I was afraid," Osgar said, stiffening.

"No?" Merida asked sweetly. This time it was she who pushed into his space, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Very deliberately, she turned the wrong way and elbowed Osgar. "Then what's not to like?" Merida continued, ignoring Osgar's oomph of discomfort. Past Osgar's shoulder, Merida saw the Lord Andres walk by the line of dancers with Titus's messenger beside him. Titus's messenger looked pale and haggard, but Lord Andres looked composed, even when warriors or clan lords accosted them.

Osgar shook his head again. This time he was careful to keep her at the proper distance. "You wouldn't understand," Osgar said, a frown gracing his lips instead of its usual laconic smile. Merida had once wished that Osgar would treat her seriously, instead of one of the girls he was so fond of chasing and leaving. Now that he wasn't trying to impress her or flirt with her, Merida found that she liked him even less.

"Why?" asked Merida swiftly, anger creeping into her words. "Is it because I'm a—"

Their conversation was interrupted by the song's end. Merida couldn't tell if she was angry because she didn't finish her sentence or glad because it meant she wouldn't have a very public, heated spat with Osgar. Merida bowed, scarcely able to contain her emotions, and begged to be allowed to sit though all young lords pressed their invitations for a dance once again. Lord Dingwall appeared beside her when all but Niall walked away. "Princess," greeted Lord Dingwall, a smile on his ruddy face. "You and Niall dance very well together. Might he have another dance?"

"Thank you, but no," Merida said, unable to keep the flatness out of her tone. "Milord is very kind." _And very obvious_, she added inwardly.

"Then at least allow Niall to escort you back to the high table," Lord Dingwall said, oblivious to her tone or perhaps willfully choosing to ignore it. Merida wasn't sure which was worse. "The princess should be accompanied to her seat."

Merida's brow furrowed. Her patience was going to run out very quickly if her every step was dogged by a suitor. Belatedly, Merida could feel the attention of the clansman on her. The appearance of the Romans had distracted them, but now she could feel sharp eyes marking her every movement and whispers stalking her steps, assessing and speculating. Who would she pick? Of course she would pick the handsome Osgar Macintosh. No, Lord Dingwall had the most lands. But Alan MacGuffin was the gentlest of her suitors.

"Is it because of the Romans?" Merida asked. At Lord Dingwall's raised brow, Merida explained, "I think I'll be safe walking unescorted in my father's hall." She smiled a little to soften her words though her fist was clenched tightly. "They are only messengers, milord. It'll take a stronger, braver man to harm the princess."

"They're Romans, Princess," Lord Dingwall said, as if explaining a simple concept to a child, "and these are no mere messengers."

"What are they, then?" Merida asked, surprise masking her irritation.

"You don't need to worry, Princess," Lord Dingwall said. "The Dingwalls will take care of it for you." He glanced over her shoulder and when Merida turned, she saw Lord Macintosh gesturing for Lord Dingwall. "Go on, Niall," Lord Dingwall said hurriedly. "Make sure the princess gets back to her throne." With that, he walked off.

Merida focused on letting her breath and frustration out in one noisy exhale. What she really wanted to do was gnash her teeth and rave, but even Niall would notice that.

"Princess?" Niall stepped closer. He was staring at her again with that strange expression in his eyes and Merida felt suffocated—trapped. His arm rose to hover around her back as he gestured to the throne. "Please, come with me."

"No, Niall," Merida batted his hand aside. "This is my castle—my home. I've walked to the throne a million times. No one will attack me. I'm the princess."

Quick as a flash, his hand whipped out and grabbed her arm. "This time it's different. It's _because_ you're the princess that you should have an escort."

Merida stopped, not so much from his grip, but from the shock. His wide, serious eyes and dark frown, so different from his airy absent-mindedness or nonsensical comments, were strange to her.

Niall was very nearly bowled over by an elderly woman in a sumptuous wine-dark gown and a white wimple. Her wine cup clattered to the ground and made a dark red puddle on the floor. "Oh, how clumsy of you!" exclaimed the woman with all the self righteous, insulted pride of an elder woman well used to getting her way.

It was Lady Ailis, her great aunt from her mother's side, and a great terror amongst the noble clan families for her sharp mouth and sharper wit. Ailis was the daughter of the old Lord Graham and the recent widow of Jamie, a renowned war hero and chieftain from Clan Campbell. Now in her advanced years as the sole lady of Eilean Donan Castle, a small estate surrounded by rich farmland and boarded by a river oft-used by travelers, and with her niece as Queen of DunBroch, Ailis had the enviable position of giving her rather strident opinion to anyone at any time.

"I'm so sorry," Niall steadied the older woman. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear. Apparently, Lady Ailis's reputation preceded her. "I didn't realize—"

"Well?" Lady Ailis shook off his hand.

Niall blinked.

"Stop apologizing, young man, and start fetching!" Ailis pointed one talon-like finger towards the tables. "Gawking is not nearly good enough to accompany an apology. When I was a maiden, I'd hardly go a foot without a handsome lad offering me a plate of food, a cup of wine or his arm to lean on much less if he'd knocked into me. Or do you think old women are less deserving of such courtesies because we sag?"

"I—of course, I didn't—" Niall stammered, thrown by her accusation. He seemed to shrink under her glare.

"I don't want to hear excuses." Her face was lined with age, but that only made her scowl even more ferocious. "Just go! I'll keep the princess company."

Niall scurried to obey.

"Aunt Ailis!" Merida hugged her great aunt close, murmuring, "I am so glad to see you."

"Strange lad, that."

"You've no idea." She made sure Niall was lost in the crowds before steering her aunt in the opposite direction. "Quick, let's start walking before he has a chance to get back."

"Running's not your style, my dear," said Lady Ailis in bemusement. She turned willingly, however, and the pair lost themselves in the shifting crowds. "Didn't you once laugh at a boy four years your elder and shamed him from ever setting foot in DunBroch?"

"He proposed to me when I was ten," the princess rolled her eyes. They skirted the dance floor and strode past the musicians with their bagpipes, lutes and fiddles. "Back then, all I wanted was to be a hero. It's not my fault I always beat him in practice sword fighting."

"Is Niall Dingwall better than you at sword fighting then?" Lady Ailis's smile was sardonic. Despite that her aunt's pace was the mincing walk of little old ladies, they were given a wide berth by the partygoers. Ailis surveyed them all with barely disguised amusement in her lively brown eyes.

"I haven't had the chance to find out." Merida slowed her pace to match her aunt, though she was impatient to be on the other end of the hall before Niall returned. Despite Ailis's composure, her grip on Merida's arm trembled and Merida didn't remember her aunt ever needing to lean so heavily on her before. Distracted, Merida continued, "The Dingwalls frowned on having the princess practice with their warriors. Guess they heard about me beating Roland too."

Her aunt laughed loudly, drawing the glances of those around them. Merida relaxed at the sound. She liked her aunt's laugh. It was bold as brass and cared not a whit for the opinions of others. Lady Ailis's visits were few and far between, but Merida cherished all of them. Ailis encouraged Elinor to give Merida more freedom. When she was ten and Elinor so exasperated from having to chase Merida away from the forest, Ailis convinced Elinor to apprentice the wayward princess to a hunter named Linus. Ailis reasoned that nothing was going to stop Merida from going into the woods, so it was better to give her the skills she needed to survive.

As they walked the hall, Merida plied her aunt with questions about the fertile lands south of DunBroch and the beautiful Eilean Donan Castle that was Ailis's home. Lady Ailis told her of the many hunts and the increasing number of traders coming through the outposts.

"Your mum's a sharp lass." Ailis motioned a servant forward with an imperious wave of a hand that glittered with a silver ring set with a ruby. The servant bowed and offered them cups of wine. "She makes trading easy, levies small taxes, and ships starts pouring into DunBroch. It's bold."

"It's kept dad and his war chieftains busy enough for months making sure everyone complied, but it's paid off." Merida remembered the days and weeks she wouldn't see her father or Kincaid or the other war chieftains as they tried to settle some dispute or forcibly maintain Elinor's protection of the trading vessels. The clans hadn't been happy to open up to outsiders, but they'd calmed down once they saw the goods flowing in. "And Linus?"

"He brings half the game all by himself even though he's twice the age of most of the hunters." Ailis kept Linus as the chief hunter for Eilean Donan castle after Merida finished her apprenticeship. It had been years since the princess had seen her old teacher, and she missed him terribly. "He's been distracted by rumors coming from Antonine's Wall, though."

They passed a table with two warriors competing in a drinking game. The crowd around the pair was cheering and counting the cups. Ailis downed her own cup before snatching one from the table much to the dismay of the warriors.

"That's my teacher," smiled Merida, a dimple in her cheek. "Always paranoid." It was a useful quality when out in the wilds by oneself, but Linus's grim predictions tended to take things as innocuous as the shape of a cloud wildly out of proportion. The princess took a cup from the competitors as well, just to make it fair, and flashed them both a grin. The warriors jostled each other at the princess's attention. "Could he not come?"

"Linus would rather hunt lions than go to parties," said Ailis, nodding to a lady with an upturned nose and was trailed by two servants. Loudly, Ailis said, "Lady Rowena, nice to see you." The lady nodded in return stiffly. "Fatter than ever. You must keep away from the sweets, dear."

Merida stifled a giggle.

"This feast does your clan credit," said Ailis, gazing at the spread. Merida nodded. The princess had never seen the castle look quite so festive. The floor was scrubbed, the furniture polished and every nook and cranny dusted. Fragrant threshes were laid out for their visitors and colorful banners festooned poles. King Fergus's hunting trophies were laid out in menacing attention throughout the great hall.

At the head of the hall was the throne—cleaned and waxed so that the wood shone in the soft candlelight and the flicker of the four roaring fireplaces. In honor of the visiting clansmen, three handsome long tables had been set. Near the end of each table hung the banner of a clan—the lyre for Clan Macintosh, the stone of Clan Dingwall, and the cauldron of Clan MacGuffin. Interspersed among the long tables were smaller tables set out for the smaller clans, resident castellans, important members of Clan Dunbroch, visiting warriors, wandering bards, prominent landowners, merchants and crofters. Dogs ran freely amongst the dancing feet and underneath tables. Merida spotted one of her brothers, a huge grin on his angelic, freckled face, riding a vicious-looking hunting hound that, in reality, was as meek as a lamb.

"Aye," Merida nodded, smiling fondly at her brother. She downed her cup, a heady sweet wine that made her head spin. "It's the first time all the clans have gathered together as one."

"It's a shame," Ailis shook her head. Her footsteps turned to a small alcove with a window that overlooked the courtyard. The alcove was occupied by one of Helen's followers, a Lady Brenda who spoke in teasing tones with a warrior. With one look from Lady Ailis, the couple beat a hasty retreat. "The stronger you are, the more enemies you have."

"Now you sound like Linus," Merida laughed. She helped her aunt settle in chair recently vacated by Lady Brenda. The older woman looked tired already though they couldn't have been walking for more than ten minutes.

"I wonder that we all don't sound more like Linus." Her tone was completely devoid of all amusement or irony.

It made Merida frown. "What do you mean?"

"Child, you can't be like…" Her aunt shrugged then pointed towards the newest members of her father's war-band. These were young lads having lately been trusted to take up the sword and the shield in the name of their king. They had none of the experience of the older warriors, but twice the swagger. They cheered as two of their friends began punching each other. "Times _are_ changing."

"I know that." Merida cocked her hip to the one side, lips pursed. "I agreed to be fostered at the Dingwalls, didn't I? Every time any of the young lords come, I'm at their beck and call. I attend all my lessons. I'm present at every important dinner. I can name every lord, his family, their clan name, their banners and their halls."

"Then do you know who _he_ is?" Ailis nodded to Andres who was standing several feet away talking to one of his men.

"Lord Andres." What had Romans to do with anything? "He came with one of General Titus's messengers."

Ailis's brown eyes narrowed in thought, and she shifted so that her back was to Andres. "D'you've any idea why he's here instead of the General?"

"I tried asking but Lord Dingwall said not to worry," Merida shook her head and took a long drink, disappointed when it ran empty. "General Titus probably felt bad for not being able to come and sent someone else important in his place." She waved to a servant to take the cup away. Once he was out of earshot, she uttered a low oath, "I just hate the way the lords treat me." Her thoughts felt a wee bit fuzzy and she realized she hadn't eaten anything at all today. She'd been far too preoccupied "entertaining" her young lords and now her belly was full of wine.

"You should care," Ailis said sharply in the rare tone of voice she'd used when she was seriously displeased with her niece. "Visiting Romans is not something to ignore." She surveyed Merida sternly from the rim of her cup. Abruptly, Merida felt like she was eight again.

"The clansmen give me more problems than Lord whoever sitting on a wall," Merida folded her arms, scowling. "I've got bigger things to worry about than visiting outlanders."

"Linus told me of some strange things south of Antonine's Wall. And the silence from lands held by the DunFells troubles me."

"Aren't there always rumors or terrible stories coming from the DunFell lands?" At her great aunt's reluctant nod, the princess continued, "Now that there's nothing, you get worried?"

"It just doesn't make sense. Ever since the new lord ascended, that area's been dead quiet. Usually, it's full of petty clans fighting each other."

"With the help of Lord Macintosh and Kincaid, Lord DunFell settled the fighting."

"Is that what your parents told you?" asked Ailis in the same tone that made Merida rethink her words. Merida gave her aunt a disgruntled look and Ailis finally laughed. "Just take care," Lady Ailis said. "Times are changing, princess."

"Enough about me," Merida tossed her hair to the side impatiently. The wine made her flush with warmth. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you've avoided all questions about yourself."

Lady Ailis avoided Merida's gaze and looked out at the hall. "Only boring things happen to little old ladies, Princess," Ailis raised a cup to her lips.

Merida hesitated then bent down, brow creased, "We were so worried when Lord Jamie died."

Lady Ailis stiffened, her wine cup centimeters from her mouth. Merida eyed with her concern. After a few moment's silence, Merida added, "Mum wanted to come right away but Lord Donal said…"

"Aye, Clan Campbell wanted to keep it to themselves," Ailis said with a strange, bitter smile on her face. "Can't have strangers seeing family wounds, can we?"

"Aunt?" Merida asked. Abruptly, she jerked back into the shadows as much as she could. Alan MacGuffin passed within a few feet of them. His eyes were red-rimmed and he clutched a tankard of ale tightly in one fist. He looked as though he were near tears or too far gone into his cups. Strange. Alan was one of the few warriors she knew who didn't drink until they were overcome. Thankfully, the lad passed her without ever noticing.

"Tell me, are your suitors so frightening that you must run away from them at your own birthday?"

Merida made a face at her aunt. "I'm not scared of them," she said, scowling. "It's just... everywhere I go, everywhere I turn, I trip over a young lord. And there's people watching, always watching, and waiting for me to magically fall in love with one of them. I need some room to breathe. That's all!" It was lucky that the room was so noisy. Otherwise, her outburst might have drawn some attention. But the Great Hall was full of people laughing and talking, of music and the sound of dancing feet, and the clatter of cups and trenchers.

"A sheep-free breath?"

Merida blushed. "Has the whole country heard that?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"No doubt it's passed Antonine's Wall and has gone as far north as the Barbaric Archipelagos," smirked Lady Ailis. "Really, Merida, if you couldn't come up with a better story, then you should have just told the truth."

"Oh, that'll go over very well. Lord and Lady Dingwall, I can't stay in your hall anymore because your son keeps staring at me and can't seem to tell me why and now he's started singing to me and I don't know what do about it anymore."

Lady Ailis guffawed. "I know Elinor keeps you sheltered, Princess, but I'm sure even you know what it means when a boy can't speak to you about his feelings."

"He doesn't even know me. And I don't know him. I only stayed in their hall for three weeks. He's a good lad, decent really, but he's just so … _queer_."

Ailis's hand on Merida's arm stopped her short. When Merida turned to look at her little aunt, the woman's face was solemn. "A decent man is rare these days, Princess," she said. "Do not sell that quality short in spite of his other less attractive features."

"That's easy for you to say," frowned Merida. "Your husband was one of the greatest warriors in his time. Women lost their hearts to him."

"As I said," repeated Lady Ailis. "Decent men are rare. Now, I think I'll go up to my chambers, my dear. I'm feeling very tired."

After Merida escorted her aunt to her chamber, she picked her way through the busy throng and tried to dispel the effects of the ale. The castle had never been so crowded. When her mother decided to expand the castle, she thought her mother mad. Castle DunBroch was beautiful exactly the way it was. But, as usual, her mother proved herself a wise woman. With the unification of the clans, the castle had never housed more people. Warriors and visiting lords populated the halls and used the newly renovated rooms. The servants' quarters had also been expanded to accommodate the needs of the various castellans and visitors. Using the increased revenue from trading policies she'd firmly enforced, the Queen redecorated and renovated existing rooms for increased comfort, efficiency and elegance. Elinor was known throughout the lands for her excellent taste and the refurbished Castle DunBroch was testimony to that. The feast should have felt chaotic and claustrophobic, but it didn't. There was an order to the chaos, an invisible dance to which the servants and even the lords moved to, and she knew her mother was the one pulling the strings.

Pausing, Merida observed her mother. As usual, Queen Elinor was surrounded by a bevy of people. Lord Dingwall, Macintosh and MacGuffin had been replaced with their ladies and attendants. They were surveying the great hall and murmuring amongst themselves. She knew her mother couldn't have been comfortable. Merida knew from experience that Lady Macintosh was prone to criticism, Lady Dingwall full of feigned graciousness, and Lady MacGuffin demanding. But none of it showed on Elinor's face. Her composure never slipped, her shoulders never sagged and her voice was always calm and even. Elinor was beautiful, wise, gracious and mature—qualities Merida tried to but could never really emulate. Elinor would have known what to say to Osgar Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Niall Dingwall.

Her name spoken aloud caught her attention. Merida realized that she had wandered near the Lord Andres and Titus's messenger. The messenger had some more color to his cheeks now that he held a flagon of ale, but his eyes were still anxious. Small wonder with several Highlanders staring at them with open dislike. The messenger spoke to Andres in their own language but she heard her name often enough to realize that the messenger was telling Andres who she was. He nodded to Merida and gestured to the dance floor. Andres glanced once at Merida. Merida was surprised to find him handsome. She rarely thought that of men and she'd seen many parading around her in the hopes of catching her eye. But Andres was handsome, startlingly so. He had sharply defined cheekbones and dark curls framed a face that looked surprisingly young for one with so severe an expression. He couldn't have been that much older than her. He looked slim compared to her father, but Merida realized that Andres was by no means thin. He lacked the brute muscle of many Highland warriors but he didn't lack in strength. The long, lean lines of his body suggested the lion rather than the bear. His eyes, though, were the most striking feature of his eyes. They were light gray, a striking contrast to his dark hair, and they glanced at her, through her, then dismissed her. Andres shook his head and grinned sardonically. Merida didn't need to hear the words to know she'd been slighted.

The princess narrowed her eyes. Andres glanced at her once more but only bowed mockingly in her direction. Merida started forward, the spirits making her bold and short-tempered, but the sound of her mother's laughter stopped her. Merida glanced over her shoulder to see the Queen laughing with Lady MacGuffin. Of the three ladies, Merida knew Elinor found Lady MacGuffin the most difficult. Merida sighed and made her way back up to the high table where Kincaid was conversing with Fergus. As soon as she drew near, they stopped abruptly. Merida pursed her lips in annoyance, but this soon faded when Kincaid wrapped her in a bear hug.

"Well, well, if it isn't the little red-haired lass I used to rescue off of rooftops," Kincaid said, laughing. Kincaid was one of her father's most trusted warriors. He grew up with Fergus and served in Fergus's father's war-band before the old Lord of DunBroch died. Through fire and sword, Kincaid remained one of Fergus's strongest supporters and a formidable chief in their wars against the Vikings. He often went out with a company of warriors to decide some dispute or handle small raids. Queen Elinor favored him because, unlike many of Fergus's warriors, he was a calm and patient man who preferred to wait and assess the situation rather than rushing into battle. He had only recently returned to the castle after settling the dispute with the DunFell clan.

"Now it's my brothers you have to rescue off rooftops," Merida laughed after he set her down. Kincaid pulled out a chair and Merida sat down gratefully.

"No, no," Kincaid said, "You are the first and last DunBroch I'll help off rooftops. Your brothers are much smarter and know how to get themselves down from high places." He sat down beside her, easy and laughing. Merida hadn't realized how much she missed him.

"Too smart for their own good," Fergus rumbled from the throne. Merida's father looked imposing tonight. The king had not escaped Elinor's clutches, though he had certainly tried. Elinor had gifted him with a brand new chainmail hauberk, the finest the smiths of the kingdom had ever crafted made from the hardest steel, and he wore the ceremonial leather armor of the DunBroch lords over it. The fur cape he wore belonged to his grandfather who, legend had it, wrestled with a bear barehanded and won. It gleamed rich and dark in the firelight. But for all that he looked every inch the king tonight, Fergus was and always would be a father to Merida first. Fergus winked at Merida before draining his goblet. "For the life of me, I couldn't understand how you got to the roof without knowing how to climb down. You gave your mother such a fright and scared years off my life."

Merida shook her head, grinning. "I don't remember much of it," she confessed.

"Well, I do," said Kincaid, slamming his flagon down the table so hard ale spilled out. "You were crying tears enough to fill the lake because… who was it, milord?" Kincaid paused in his retelling to bite an apple and spit the seeds out. "Some young lad, her playmate was going away… Aye, it was milady Queen's friend—Valhallarama's boy!" Kincaid snapped his fingers and tossed the apple away. "Barf? Burp? Some strange name, I don't recall. You were told that the young lad wasn't coming back and you swore you wouldn't come down until he did."

"I'd never!" Merida snapped, blushing hotly. "I don't even know who Valhallarama is."

"You don't?" asked Kincaid, shooting her an odd look. "Valhallarama used to visit your mum all the time when you were young. You'd run off and get into all sorts of trouble with her son. I thought—"

"Leave her alone," Fergus said. Merida felt a fierce gratitude to her father. "Now she's got three _fine_ young lads vying for her hand." The gratitude died a quick death. Merida glared at her father who only laughed.

"Phew," Kincaid said, standing up and taking his flagon with him. "I forgot how terrifying your glares are, Princess. I'll take my ale to someone who'll appreciate our wit." He winked at Merida, bowed to Fergus and walked away. When Merida turned back to her father, Fergus was still wearing the same huge grin that let her know she wasn't off the hook yet.

"Don't you start," Merida said, rolling her eyes as she walked over to her seat next to her father. Servants whisked the dishes Fergus emptied and replaced it with newer dishes bearing desserts. As if by magic, Hamish appeared with hands outstretched to grab a cake. Merida caught her younger brother in her arms and sat him on her lap. "Now, it's your turn to sit by me and keep away those suitors," she said, shaking a stern finger at her brother. "You promised to help me tonight."

Hamish only laughed and patted her cheek.

"Oh, all right, ya wee devil," sighed the princess. "Go on and have your dessert then." The boy took three cakes and ran to the dance floor.

"Maybe you've got them wrapped a little too tightly around your little finger," said Fergus, biting through an apple with a loud crunch. "Want me to have a talk with them?" Fergus smiled and cracked his knuckles ominously.

For a moment, Merida seriously considered it. Her father could give them a stern talking to—maybe even a stiff scare. But for what? For why? Unbidden, she recalled Lady Ailis's words. They _were_ decent lads. They hadn't done anything wrong. They were just… being suitors. "The boys aren't… bad," Merida said reluctantly.

Fergus raised a wiry brow at her in disbelief, "No one else can hear us at the high table, you know."

"It's true," Merida protested weakly. "Niall can be strange sometimes, Osgar cocky and Alan shy as a newborn foal but… They're good lads. I can be friends with them." Merida's brow furrowed and she added, "Probably."

"If you say so," Fergus said, raising a toast to a warrior who just entered the hall. Then he shrugged, "Aye, you're probably right. I had my misgivings about the other lords too but nowhere will you find truer friends and allies." The king sampled a cake and sighed in pleasure. He offered his daughter a taste but Merida wasn't hungry. "What's the matter, lass? You look far too troubled for your birthday."

" It's just…" Merida hesitated. For once, she let her insecurities and worries crowd her young face though she was in front of all the clans. "I want to do right by the clans, Dad. I know that means becoming a proper lady to one of the young lords. But… I don't know if I can."

Fergus smiled and cupped Merida's slim shoulder in his wide hand. "Merida, you've got the strength of your father and the wisdom of your mother," he said. The warmth of his hand seeped through the fabric of her beautiful green gown—an early birthday present from her mother—and gave her some small comfort. "You'll make a fine lady—just like your mum was when she was your age."

"That's just it, Dad," Merida sighed, shoulders drooping. She plucked at the bell sleeves of her dress. Though they were celebrating her seventeenth birthday, Merida suddenly felt like she was a child again dressing up in her mother's clothing. "That's not me. I'm not… I'm not like _mum_…"

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by Elinor's arrival. The queen reminded them that it was time for the gift-giving ceremony. Her father gave her one last encouraging pat then Merida straightened up quickly and moved to her place in front of the high table. Many of the visiting clan lords gave her small treasures. An emissary from Clan DunFell presented her with a small silver bracelet. Lady Alerie, the current Lady of Clan Campbell, presented her with a beautiful night blue silk cloth. But the gifts Merida treasured most were from her family and the residents of Castle DunBroch. Kincaid gave her new bracers. Her brothers gave her a very _interpretive _drawing of the castle. Lady Ailis's attendant gave her a gold brooch in the shape of a bow and arrow. The Romans were near the end. The messenger stepped forward and translated haltingly Lord Andres's words.

"General Titus wishes to convey his deepest regrets to the Princess for not being able to come to her birthday," said the messenger. But Merida wasn't even paying attention. She stared coolly at Lord Andres who kept his face bland as he gazed back and said words in his own language. Though his manner was polite, something in his eyes expressed disdain. "My Lord Andres was told by General Titus of his affection for the royal family and bid him bring his present in his stead," said the messenger. As the messenger finished, Lord Andres stepped close. He smelled like rain and leather and horse and something else—a spice or perfume that she'd never smelled before. Though he was slender, he had a way of filling up the space around him. He stood no closer than the others who had given her presents, but it felt far more intimate—or intimidating, Merida couldn't decide.

Lord Andres gave her a small package. She unwrapped it with steady hands though she could feel his unnerving gaze on her. Underneath was a small box filled with seeds. She looked up in askance at Andres but he didn't speak. He simply stared at her face. Merida could feel a growing rumble around her. She thought she heard Lord Dingwall's agitated whisper. Merida didn't care. If he thought he could scare her, then Lord Andres knew nothing, knew even less than the clan lords. She was the daughter of the Bear King, the firstborn of Clan DunBroch. She was not afraid. She lifted her chin and raised a brow.

"General Titus knew… General Titus said you often liked hearing about his campaigns to the east," the messenger said, uncomfortable with the silence. "These are seeds of flowers that bloom in lands far to the east and south. He thought they might remind you of his stories."

It was a thoughtful present, Merida knew, even if she had the worst green thumb. If given by another man, another _Roman_, she would have smiled and thanked him sincerely. Instead, Merida inclined her head and said tersely, "Lord Andres honors me. Give General Titus my thanks and tell him that the princess desires his presence in the next occasion. His replacement is unsatisfactory." Andres quirked his brow and the messenger looked stricken. From behind her, she heard his mother whisper her name in warning. Merida didn't care. She treated Andres to the same smile he'd given her earlier, "Gifts are sweeter from the giver. In all other respects, Andres lives to the reputation of Romans." The messenger translated her words. She waited for Andres to frown at her, irritation or anger blazing in the depths of his light eyes. But there was nothing. His composure never broke; he didn't frown. He simply nodded and bowed.

Merida let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Abruptly, she heard the whispers circulating the room around her, even above the sound of music. She blinked and handed her gift to her mother who was frowning at her. Merida shrugged and turn to face her remaining gift-givers. At the end of the line were the young lords and their fathers. These were the important ones—the young lords' gifts represented the goodwill of their respective clans.

"Princess Merida," Osgar gave a deep excessive bow.

Merida fought not to roll her eyes.

"For your birthday, I present you this looking glass," he took a moment to check his reflection before continuing, "so that you may admire your beauty at any time." As usual, the end of Osgar's speech was punctuated by the swooning of several ladies. Osgar's father, Lord Macintosh, nodded approvingly. The looking glass was a beautiful work of art. The bright glass was set against a wooden frame with small, jade stones punctuating its circumference. The back of the frame was inlaid with the carvings of bears, swords, lyres and fish. Carved against the handle was a small inscription, "For the fairest face in all the land." No doubt Osgar was thinking of himself when he asked the craftsman to carve this.

"I—thank you," replied Merida in a high stilted tone, "It's… exactly what I wanted." To the side, she saw her father barely hiding his laughter while Elinor elbowed him. Her mother gave her an encouraging smile. "I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship," Merida finished by rote, setting the present aside.

"My dear Princess Merida," the Lord MacGuffin approached her. Merida blinked in surprise. She expected Alan to present the MacGuffin gift. Alan was nowhere to be seen but there was a young woman with brown hair and eyes dressed in the plain attire of the servants. Lord MacGuffin clasped Merida's hands in his. "My son begs leave to be excused but an important message from our hall arrived and needed to be attended to. Instead, I will present his gift to you." He gestured to the young woman to approach. This close, Merida could see the expression on the girl's face—sadness, hurt and, most of all, fear. Her hands trembled though she tried to hide it in her skirts. She bowed unsteadily to Merida and kept kneeling.

"M-my princess," the girl said in a voice that tried not to tremble.

"This is Sima," Lord MacGuffin clasped the girl's shoulder. "Sadly, her family was killed by raiding Vikings but she was saved by my son Alan in a heroic, bold rescue. Though her life is owed to my clan, I thought the princess of DunBroch would have far better use of such a servant. Sima is a sweet, gentle lass—useful, skilled at needlepoint, a very good cook and soft-spoken. Everything a princess should require of a companion!"

Merida tried not to let Lord MacGuffin see her horror. She had no objections to Sima, but the thought of handing off a servant who belonged to one clan and passing it off to another—as though they were objects and not people! She knew that some servants were attached to households. They owed their life to the clan family whether through debt or honor and the lords held ultimate control of their fate. But such servants of Clan DunBroch had always been treated like family. She could never imagine her father or mother giving one as a gift to another clan. She could see Fergus's frown and the other lords whispering amongst themselves. She glanced at Elinor who was staring intently at Sima and then at Lord MacGuffin. The Queen noticed Merida's stare and nodded.

"Sima is most welcome to the service of Clan DunBroch," said Merida abruptly in a silence that had perhaps gone too long. Sima's face had grown deathly pale in the interim and she hadn't stopped trembling. Merida held out her hand and drew Sima up. The girl had a square, thoughtful face with a large mouth. Long, sooty lashes framed her brown eyes. She was not a very attractive girl but something in her expression and mannerism spoke of much warmth. She looked disconcerted to be holding the hand of the princess and tried to curtsy again. "Sima," Merida touched the girl's shoulder gently. The girl glanced up at her. "I hope we become great friends." She turned back to Lord MacGuffin and said in frostier tones, "I thank you. I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship." The lord bowed to the princess and moved on. Merida gestured for Sima to stand beside her. The girl did so, still trembling.

Finally, Niall approached—the last of the gift-givers. Thankfully, a servant did not accompany him. Instead, Niall had in his hands a lyre and a familiar glint in his eyes. "Princess, your beauty inspired me to write a passionate song declaring my fervent admiration." His voice stumbled and color rose high in his cheek. To the side, his father elbowed his neighbors and pointed at his son, clearly pleased, before snapping his fingers. Nearby, the minstrels readied their fiddles, lyre and pipes. The song commenced and Niall began to sing.

"Oh, hells, he wasn't joking about the cursed song," Merida muttered, face turning red. The tune was actually quite catchy and she caught more than a few of the guests nodding their head or stomping to the beat of the song. When he tried to liken Merida's hair to that of a sheep, Merida felt her guts start shriveling up out of shame. She caught Osgar and his father snickering in the corner. Merida thought that Fergus was having the shakes until she realized that he was only trembling in the effort to keep his laughter silent. At the corner of her eye, she caught the Romans standing to the side. Andres's face was tranquil but she caught the messenger grinning and whispering to the others. The few minutes the song went on were the longest few minutes Merida had ever experienced. The last note had barely trailed off before she said in a loud voice. "I thank you for such a beautiful ballad, milord. I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship."

The guests applauded and Niall bowed, for once alert and pleased with himself. Osgar asked for an encore of the song and Niall gladly obliged. She was so focused on keeping the horror from her face that she didn't notice Sima glancing curiously at her. When the crowd asked for a third rendition, Merida could bear it no longer. She curtsied to her mother and fled the room.

* * *

Author's Notes: Yeahh, Merida's part is huge compared to Hiccup's. I had a lot more ground to cover in terms of reintroducing old characters, introducing new ones and alluding to significant political changes in the Highlands. I swear I tried breaking it up, but it just ended up being a lot in the first go. The chapter lengths will even out later on. Let me know what you think! Constructive criticisms and words of encouragement are greatly welcome.

On that note, a big thank you to everyone read/reviewed/liked the story so far! I'll usually send a thank you note or response to a question if the review is signed. Otherwise, I'll try to give you a shoutout here. So thank you crossovergirl and EvieLiz!

I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other.

Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on tumblr ( .com ). If you want to see more, come check it out!


	3. Descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly

Disclaimer: I don't own Hiccup or Merida, obviously. I'm not making any money off this. Both characters and the movies they come from belong to Dreamworks and Disney, respectively. If you really want to see something to blow you away, go watch the movies. Then think about these two interacting. Then you'll see what I mean.

* * *

**CROSSING THE HORIZON**

**Descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly  
**

* * *

The flight to Berk was, in a word, frosty. Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Fishlegs and Snotlout had spent hours trekking through the dark island without protection of their dragons and occasionally ambushing or being ambushed by rogue Outcasts. By the time they made their way back to camp, they were tired and wounded. Their mood was not improved by news of Dagur's rescue. Once they learned they had Hiccup to thank for that, Hiccup was lucky Snotlout was so tired he could barely lift his axe let alone swing it.

"Let me handle this," Hiccup pleaded to the others as soon as they were safe in the air. "Give me some to think about what say to my dad."

"What is there to think about?" Astrid asked, brows creased and mouth set in a scowl. "There's no plan that can make this situation any better."

"Unless you count killing Dagur and making it look like a wild dragon attack," said Snotlout nearby. Though too weary to hit his cousin, Snotlout was never too tired to make his feelings known verbally. His angry rant crescendoed to such a degree that even Tuffnut told him calm him down or else risk attracting more Outcast attention. After that, Snotlout had ignored Hiccup for most of the flight over although that didn't stop his impressively rude muttering from reaching Hiccup from time to time.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Fishlegs said, brow creasing in thought. "We could just blow his whole longship out of the water." He flinched at the glare Hiccup leveled his way or maybe it was Meatlug's sudden drop. Meatlug was so tired that she would drop a few feet every so often. "Just thinking out loud."

"For once, my friend, I actually like how you think," Tuffnut grinned. Of all the Vikings, Tuffnut seemed the least concerned over the situation. But then again, Hiccup couldn't be sure that Tuffnut or Ruffnut had the capacity to grasp _any _situation more complicated than fighting or causing trouble. "As it happens, I'm the master of blowing things up."

"No, _I'm _the master of blowing things up." Ruffnut swerved to elbow her brother in the side. Tuffnut's particularly high-pitched yelp made his sister snigger uncontrollably before she said in a calmer, more level voice, "If we go now, we could probably catch up with Dagur's longship before it reaches Hysteria."

"Perfect!" Snotlout's enforced quiet time seemed only to make him even more belligerent. "Let's do it now." Snotlout sighted by the North Star and directed Hookfang southwest.

"How about no?" said Hiccup sharply. Without any prompting, Toothless immediately blocked Hookfang's way, fangs bared.

"I'm not listening to you anymore," shouted Snotlout. Hookfang released a sulfurous breath almost in unison. "Ever since you got Toothless, it's been Snotlout, do this, Snotlout, do that. Well, guess what? I've got a dragon now too and I've lead three attacks, defended six settlements and done rescue missions all by myself."

"Didn't the sheep you were rescuing die?" Tuffnut's pitted helm hung long over his singed brow, giving him a particularly frazzled and confused look. "Does a rescue mission count if you lose the rescuee?"

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't," concurred Ruff. Unlike her brother, Ruffnut looked none the worse for wear but for the dark smudges underneath her eye.

"Doesn't matter!" Snotlout reddened. "How many attacks has Hiccup lead?"

"I've defended settlements too, Snotlout." Hiccup tried to quell the mounting irritation in his chest. "More solo scouting missions than anyone else in the village. And I haven't lost anyone in all the rescues I've done. Including sheep."

"Yeah?" Snotlout sneered. "How many Outcasts have you killed?" At Hiccup's silence, Snotlout jeered, "That's right. _None_. Even Fishbrains—"

"Fishlegs," said Fishlegs, yelping at Meatlug's sudden drop.

"Fishbrains," continued Snotlout as though he hadn't heard, "has killed one or two. Kids younger than you have killed more Outcasts. You just keep taking them _prisoner_. As if we _needed_ more people to feed. How backwards is that?" He turned to the rest of the dragon riders. "He hasn't been pulling his weight in ages. Why are we even listening to him?"

There was a pregnant silence after that, made all the more awful by the whistling of the wind and the beat of dragon wings. Hiccup very firmly kept his glare on Snotlout. Right now, he couldn't bear to see what might be on the twins' face, or Fishlegs or, worse, Astrid.

"Can it, Snotlout," snapped Astrid. Stormfly's tail twitched jerkily, spikes slowly rising. "We've all done our share in this fight. And if you think that number of kills qualifies you to be the leader, then I'm number one. I've got more kills than all of you combined."

"What _do_ you think we should do, Astrid?" Fishlegs seemed eager to divert the tension in the air.

"We need to report this back to Stoick." Astrid's voice was calm and even. Only the tightness in her shoulders belied her anxiety. "Killing Dagur is too risky. If we fail or get spotted, the Berserker armada will be at Cowrie Beach by the end of the day. Does _anyone _have a problem with my idea?"

"Tch, fine," scowled Snotlout, crossing his arms and looking away from her ferocious glare. The others hastily murmured in agreement.

"I agree with you," said Hiccup. "Astrid, you know I do. But please, let me be the one to tell my dad. I just need to figure out the right way to tell him. I just need some time to clear my head, ok?"

"You've been clearing your head for months now," said Astrid through gritted teeth.

The twins chorused their assent, Fishlegs mumbled in agreement and Snotlout added darkly, "So much that he's got no brains left."

"Stay out of this!" Astrid barked at their friends. She pointed below her where, underneath the slowly lightening sky, was the island of Berk. Hiccup could pick out the tiny longhouses crowding the cliffsides, the statues of Vikings jutting menacingly out of the waters, even the low stone walls that replaced the driftwood fences to pen flocks of yak, elk and sheep. "All of that can _burn_."

"I know that!" Hiccup took a deep breath and began again. "Astrid, you're right. I'm the one responsible for this whole mess. I was the one who thought of going after Alvin in the first place. I didn't end the fight; I made it worse. I need some time to think of what I have to say to my dad and to the rest of Berk. Please."

Astrid sighed, "Ok. But you need to tell him soon, ok?"

"I promise."

Hiccup knew the village wouldn't take the news of Dagur's discovery of their dragons and his rescue well. But still, he had a chance to explain to his father. The village might not understand, but if he found the right words, then his father _might_. With the growing rift between him and his friends, Hiccup was suddenly desperate for someone to understand. To that end, after he'd seen his friends to the village and made them swear not to tell anyone, Hiccup spent the remainder of the night at Cowrie Beach hastily cobbling together what he hoped would be a good explanation.

* * *

The sun shone bright directly overhead by the time Hiccup felt anywhere close to prepared. He and Toothless were walking hurriedly through the village proper when a small child's giggle distracted Hiccup from his thoughts.

The village of Berk had grown rapidly since their peace with dragons. Newer buildings with colorful carvings crowded the available space in the village. Dragon ornaments and large roosts (an idea Fishlegs came up with so that dragons would have a place to land or nap on their riders' home) perched precariously on slanted rooftops. Defense towers also multiplied. Although they were no longer used to ward off wild dragon attacks, the towers were fast becoming necessary against incoming raids.

A little girl peeked out from behind the pillar of a defense tower. It was Brenna, one of the little girls who doted on Toothless. The Night Fury watched her expectantly. On cue, the girl shyly held out a large fish.

"You flirt," grinned Hiccup at his best friend. As soon as the girl held out her offering, Toothless went from solemn to wide, beseeching eyes and flattened ears. The dragon slunk forward, all meekness, until a noise made the dragon halt.

"Stop that, Brenna," said a boy, appearing beside Brenna. "You're supposed to be helping Gothi with the medicines." He was ten years old with a prominent mole in his chin, but his long brown hair matched Brenna's.

"I just wanna give Toothless a treat," whispered the nine-year-old girl.

"You're just bothering them," scolded the boy.

"It's okay," said Hiccup, kneeling so that he was at eye level with the children. "Toothless won't hurt her." He gestured for Brenna to come closer. "You're a bit young to be an apprentice healer, Brenna."

Brenna didn't respond. She was too mesmerized with holding out her fish to Toothless. It was her older brother who answered, "She's not an apprentice healer. Not yet anyway. Gothi just needs as much help as she can get what with all the wounded coming back…"

Hiccup chewed his lip and nodded. "It's Crowtooth, right? You're in the beginner's class in Dragon Academy."

"You... you remember me?" Crowtooth looked surprised and pleased though he tried hard not to show the latter. "But... you only taught the class once when Fishlegs was sick."

"I remember all my students in Dragon Academy," Hiccup smiled. He patted the Night Fury's side. "Plus, Toothless never forgets a face that gives him fish."

The dragon in question finally took Brenna's treat with rare delicacy. The girl was overcome with giggles and ran away.

"Toothless says thank you!"

The Night Fury gobbled the fish greedily and licked its lips. Toothless stared intently at Crowtooth. Hiccup could almost hear the intensity in Toothless's unspoken _More?_

The ten-year-old boy ignored the dragon and stared at Hiccup. He was frowning, as if puzzled, and his arms were folded across his chest. "Is it true you're a milksop?"

"Sorry?" Hiccup asked, taken aback. Toothless, hearing his surprise, paused in giving Crowtooth big eyes and stared back at Hiccup.

"That's what some of the older kids say," said Crowtooth with all the frank honesty and shamelessness of the very young or the entitled old.

Hiccup's mouth twisted in a wry, somewhat bitter grin. After a pause, he asked, "What do you think?"

Crowtooth considered the question very seriously. "You're the best teacher in Dragon Academy. You make good toys. You and Toothless make the best fireworks," said Crowtooth finally. "You might be a milksop, but I don't mind."

"Thanks, Crowtooth," Hiccup's lips quirked. The village's opinion of him might have sunk to an all-time low, but at least the kids stilled liked him. "That's big of you. Listen, do you happen to know where my dad is?"

"Pa said the Chief would be at the Meade Hall," said Crowtooth. He started walking back the way his sister had run off to. "Will you be at Dragon Academy later?"

"Maybe," said Hiccup, waving him off.

Toothless crooned low and bumped his back. Hiccup smiled fondly and patted his head. Despite the treat, the dragon's ears drooped and his eyes were half-lidded. "Go back home. I'll catch up and give you a good rubbing down. How's that sound?"

Toothless crooned again, face close to Hiccup's.

"I'll be fine, Toothless. It's just time to face the music." Toothless yawned, and began pacing back to Hiccup's house.

After Brenna and Crowtooth, Hiccup didn't see anyone else in the village until he reached the central square. There, he spotted groups of boys, no more than fourteen or fifteen, drilling with blunt axes or playing bashyball. Ever since the Outcast raids worsened, more and more youths joined Spitelout's training program. It was basically like Gobber's old dragon training classes except this time, the kids were pitted against older warriors who had less mercy and/or sanity than dragons.

"Hiccup!" cried one boy, breaking away from the set. Kofri was one of the rare young recruits who both trained in Dragon Academy and who also attended Spitelout's classes. The lanky boy bounded up to Hiccup all eager smiles.

"Hey, Kofri," said Hiccup, smiling wanly. Kofri reminded Hiccup of an overenthusiastic yipping puppy forever getting in the way. His energy was only matched by his clumsiness and accidents followed in his wake. Ruff had nicknamed him the _Hopefully hopeless. _Fortunately, his love of dragons pushed him to make twice the amount of effort. And his admiration for a certain female dragon trainer.

"Have you seen Astrid?" Kofri pushed brown locks away from his sweaty forehead. He waved distractedly at his friends who boo-ed at his escape from their drill. "She promised she'd teach us the Piercing Lunge using a double-headed axe today."

"I haven't seen her since this morning." He tried hard to ignore the lingering stares of Kofri's friends and he tried even harder not to wonder which of them called him a milksop.

Kofri seemed to ignore his discomfort and followed the older boy companionably. "She's probably in the Meade Hall. The chief must want her opinion on that big meeting." Kofri nodded to himself as if in confirmation. "She's attending more and more of the chief's meetings, hasn't she? She's the youngest person to be included... well, except for you. But you're the chief's son and she earned her place by being the village's best fighter."

"Uh huh," said Hiccup a little awkwardly as Kofri continued heaping praise on Astrid. Hiccup's admiration and respect for Astrid ran deep, but he didn't fawn over her the way the younger boys did. Hiccup couldn't blame them. Astrid flourished in adversity. Every mission, every attack, every patrol, every rescue became a training ground to enhance deadly skill with axe and shield, an opportunity to exercise a keen mind quick to assess the battlefield, and an arena to push herself and Stormfly to even better teamwork.

Some people crumbled under pressure. Astrid shone like a diamond.

Hiccup let Kofri's jumble of words fade to the background as they walked. It wasn't until the Meade Hall loomed directly ahead that he finally paid attention to some of Kofri's words.

"Some people, not me, of course, were just wondering what the situation is. Not that you're bad or that the situation is bad, but, you know, you kind of keep it close to the furry vest and it's hard to tell whether something is going on or what."

"What's going on?"

"What do you think of Astrid?" Kofri was uncharacteristically hesitant as he hefted his axe from one hand to the next. He fumbled his axe and the edge would have nicked him if the blade had been sharpened.

_Is that a trick question? _Hiccup wondered. His relationship with Astrid was private and his feelings even more so. He and Astrid weren't openly affectionate by nature unlike Ruff and her myriad of boyfriends or Snotlout who made a complete and utter ass of himself every time he chased a pretty girl. A kiss here, holding hands there, that was the extent of what the village saw. Astrid's growing number admirers, not to mention the distance between them, only made Hiccup even more reserved. _It's a simple question, Haddock_, he forced himself to focus. _Just answer the question and let them draw their own conclusions._

"She..." he hesitated, trying to sum up Astrid and his feelings for her in as few words as possible. "She's perfect."

"Agreed," nodded Kofri. His axe tossing became a little more energetic as they reached the steps toward the Meade Hall. To his credit, he only fumbled it two more times. "Did you know that the Meatheads call her the Valkyrie?"

"What's this about?" Hiccup demanded. It was unlike Kofri to dance around an issue and he didn't have the time or patience to figure it out. He had other, more important things to worry about.

"Some couples, you know, they just make sense," Kofri winced and shrugged, "You can totally tell why they're together. They have so much in common. You and Astrid are kind of... different."

"We attended the same dragon training class," Hiccup pointed out, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "We're both dragon trainers. We're both great riders."

"And she's such a great fighter on top of everything else!" Kofri exclaimed. At Hiccup's raised brow, he added, "But they say opposites attract, right? And you've got a Night Fury! Best dragon out there. You're great too."

Hiccup's glare had definitely improved since he first started dragon training. As soon as Kofri caught sight of Hiccup's face, he said hurriedly, "Eh, I'll leave you to your thing. 'Cuz you have a thing, right? Say hi to Astrid for me!"

"Unbelievable," Hiccup muttered as he climbed up the steps to the Meade Hall. The giant braziers in front of the statues were not lit but the smaller ones by the doorway burned cheerfully in the daylight. He could already hear the rumble inside and Gobber's yelling. He opened the door and stepped through.

"Hiccup!" came a shout and Hiccup was immediately lifted by strong arms into a chokehold. Hiccup flailed, thinking for one wild moment that it was Dagur, but then realized that the person who grabbed him was Bucket. "You're alive! He's alive, Mulch!" The tall, blond fisherman gave an extra tight squeeze that chased the last remaining air from Hiccup's lungs.

"Put him down," scowled Mulch, his best friend and fellow fisherman. "You're choking him." Hiccup was abruptly let go and Hiccup stumbled as his feet hit the ground. Mulch steadied him with his hook hand and patted him with his good left hand. "You're all right, boy. But ya better go on ahead. You're father's worried sick about you."

"What?" asked Hiccup, head spinning. "Why wouldn't I be alive? Why is my dad worried about me?" But their conversation was interrupted by the shouts coming from inside the hall. In his impromptu embrace by Bucket, Hiccup hadn't even realized what was taking place.

The Meade Hall was constructed to house the entire population of Berk in times of bad weather (which happened far too often) or attack (which was happening more frequently than anyone liked). It was a vast space with towering pillars that soared to the stone ceiling overhead. The rough walls were covered in enormous tapestries depicting famous Viking heroes, ancestors and gods. At the far end was a large, circular fire pit big enough to comfortably fit three Monstrous Nightmares. Surrounding the pit was a circular table that, in times of great feasts, seated the village chief and those closest to him. It was at this spot that Stoick often held meetings or heard villagers' complaints. The central space of the Meade Hall was kept clear but to the side and near the fire pit, tables and braziers were scattered.

It looked like half the village was crowded inside the Meade Hall. They gathered round the fire pit where Hiccup spotted Stoick, and spilled into the main floor. Clusters gathered here and there amongst tables and pillars talking rapidly to each other. Hiccup spotted the fishermen nearest the outer doors. His uncle Spitelout, Phlegma the Fierce, and their oldest recruits were near the fire pit. The only villager seated was Gothi the Elder. Her small hunched frame rested on a chair by a pillar. Stoick the Vast was in a deep conversation with Gobber but he looked up when he heard the commotion. "Hiccup!" he shouted. Even from this distance, Hiccup could hear the pure relief breaking through his dad's voice. "Thank the gods, you're okay!"

At sixteen years of age, Hiccup was almost a man grown amongst his people. Still, he couldn't help the comfort and relief he felt at the sight of his father. "Hey, Dad," Hiccup said, smiling wearily.

Stoick's response was drowned out by shouts from the other villagers, "Where have you been?"

"Have the Berserkers arrived?"

"Did you see the armada?"

Hiccup's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach and his mouth went dry. "Wha-" he began but he couldn't hear himself over the din. Stoick raised his hand to silence the villagers and beckoned Hiccup to come forward. His heart raced as he made his way up the long hall and to the great fire pit. Along the way, he spotted his friends. Fishlegs was twisting his hands together in worry. The twins stood near the brazier, for once looking impassive. Snotlout was drumming his fingers impatiently on the handle of his long axe. He raised his brows at Hiccup as if to hurry him along. Finally, he spotted Astrid close to Gothi. She looked anxious, frustrated, but most of all relieved. She smiled at Hiccup as he passed and he returned it. Maybe things would be all right with them, after all. He just needed to get through this.

Stoick assessed him as he finally made his way to the table. The chief of the Hooligans was haloed by the meager sunlight filtering in through the high windows, casting his features in shadows. He looked intimidating, the light blurring the familiar features of his father's face while highlighting the size and height of a Viking chief in his prime. This was the warrior who killed dragons twice his size and three times his speed with only his war hammer and sheer iron resolve. Anxiety wound its way through Hiccup's throat and he felt like a little boy again who managed to let all the dragons loose and carry off the food supplies for the winter in one go. He paused. There was a touch at his elbow and he looked to see Astrid step up to the table next to him. Her face was calm and impassive. It was the expression she wore during important community meetings or war councils when she was trying to seem more grown up than she actually was, she'd once confided in him in a very rare moment of vulnerability. Hiccup squared his shoulders and turned to face his father.

Stoick's hands twitched at his side and Hiccup realized that the chief was restraining himself from giving Hiccup a hug. Just like that, Hiccup felt like he had his father back again. Then Stoick straightened his posture and the next words out of the village chief's mouth knocked the breath out of Hiccup.

"Astrid told us about the Berserkers," Stoick said gravely. "We need to know exactly what happened."

"You told them?" Hiccup asked, turning to Astrid. Shock and hurt warred inside him and he wasn't sure which showed the most on his face.

Astrid stepped back, expression closing. "Hiccup," she said in a low voice. "I-"

"We should have found out from you! Where have you been?" asked Phlegma, brows creased. Other villagers repeated the question, in varying degrees of fear and anger. Hiccup was taken aback. The room was thick with tension. He had seen the village face down hordes of dragon attacks before but this… This was something different. He had never seen them like this before. Beside his father, he could see Gobber shouting at the others to calm down but they wouldn't listen. It took his father raising his voice before everyone quieted again.

"All right, everyone needs to calm down," Stoick said, "We need to hear Hiccup's side of the story. Hiccup, what happened on that island?"

Hiccup swallowed. The words he had composed in the night, words he had strung together so carefully, seemed especially flimsy now underneath Stoick's worried stare and the weight of the villagers' fears. He explained briefly Alvin's treachery, Dagur's discovery of Berk's dragons and finally, his rescue of Dagur from the ocean and return to the Berserker warship. At this point, he faltered, feeling more than hearing the growing rumble of discontent from his audience.

"Listen, " he pleaded, already feeling their attention slip away. "I understand how everyone is feeling right now. " His voice sounded small in the cavernous space of the Meade Hall. Firelight flickered ominously on the hostile faces of the villagers staring at him. He tried to focus on his father. "Believe me, I know. My mission, this last mission, was to find Alvin, bring him back to Berk and use him to end this fight with the Outcasts. But killing Dagur wouldn't have stopped the fighting. Killing Dagur was not the right choice."

Someone, he wasn't sure who, but he thought sounded like Snotlout, muttered, "Yeah, it was. We're Vikings."

Hiccup glared in the direction of the voice, "Do we have to kill everyone that could be a threat to us just because we're Vikings?"

Phlegma the Fierce scoffed impatiently, "Yes! Boy, you don't know what you've dragged us into. You've brought a war upon us when we need to gather food for the oncoming frost."

Spitelout added, "We're spread thin fighting off the Outcasts and gathering food. We don't have enough men or dragons for a war with 50,000 Berserkers. Do you really want them coming to our doorstep when we're out of food, out of men and out of weapons?"

"Who says they're going to be a war?" Hiccup asked in frustration, "We can make peace with the Berserkers. We—we can talk to them!"

Everybody looked at him incredulously in silence. This made Snotlout's following comment reverberate all the more loudly, "Well, we've heard his side and it's _dumb_."

Muttering followed fast and thick from the other villagers.

"What a _child_."

"He didn't have the guts to kill a dragon. Guess it was too much to hope he'd kill a man too."

"Why do we keep letting him drag us into these situations? First, dragons, then Outcasts and now Berserkers?"

"This is ridiculous. We could have had Dagur's head by now. War would have been over before it started."

"Dagur is on his way here to kill us all."

Hiccup tried to respond, but no matter how loudly he spoke, no one paid attention. The shouting and reprimands came from all sides and Hiccup felt like he was suffocating in it. He clenched his jaw and tried not to listen. Instead, he focused on the great stone frieze behind his father. It was a familiar carving of the legendary Viking king Grimbeard the Ghastly and his three sons Thugheart, Grimbrow and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II. Underneath the stone frieze, Stoick's war hammer, the only weapon in the village not kept in the armory or in a warrior's house, was featured prominently. As a child, he dreamt that he would one day wield that hammer. Nowadays, he avoided it. Even Toothless didn't want to be near the weapon, although that might be because it had crushed countless dragon skulls.

"QUIET DOWN," Stoick bellowed. He never looked more imposing to Hiccup than he did right then, standing broad shouldered and implacable despite the mounting fear sweeping his whole tribe. It was almost as if the hostility and the roiling hysteria rolled off him and instead only drew out an unshakeable surety. "We don't know that Dagur will wake up and go to war with us."

People began muttering again but they quieted as soon as his cold gaze fell on them. He began pacing the room, drawing all eyes to him. For a moment, Hiccup allowed himself to hope. Then Stoick reached for his war hammer and Hiccup knew his father hadn't heard him either.

"But we will prepare for war nonetheless! If Dagur wants a fight, we'll teach him that even his armada will count for nothing in testing our seas, our lands, our dragons! Have you forgotten?" Stoick stabbed the war hammer in the direction of the carving of Grimbeard. "The Berserker Tribe like to keep repeating that they descended from Grimbeard's son Thugheart. But, we're also descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly, every bit the equal of the Berserker tribe, by blood through Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II! And if Dagur or Alvin shows either of their faces here, I'll teach them personally that they should have been more afraid of us than of our dragons." He ended his statement with a decisive swing of his war hammer that shattered the face of the carving of Thugheart.

The cheers of the villagers reached the ceiling of the Meade Hall. Most were clapping or shouting their support of Stoick. Hiccup was one of the few who did not. He almost felt like he was watching the scene from a stranger's perspective.

Stoick turned to Spitelout to consult him about his warriors, but it was Snotlout who volunteered the information. Stoick nodded and said, "Good. I know they're already working hard, but I want them in the best possible shape. The Outcasts are tricky bastards, but the Berserkers are hard and fast and we need to hit them harder and faster. Astrid." Astrid straightened and met his gaze calmly. "You're our best fighter on a dragon. I want you to take Snotlout and whoever else you need and train the new dragon riders."

Astrid's gaze flicked to Hiccup and held it for a long moment. Hiccup barely held back a blanch. Astrid turned back to Stoick and responded firmly, "Yes, I'm prepared. I know what to do." Hiccup's breath escaped him in a rush and his eyes fell to the ground. The rest of the meeting faded away. There was a roaring in his ears and he felt off-balance, almost as if he was in freefall. But it wasn't the freefall from the back of a dragon. It was the ground crumbling underneath his feet.

He vaguely registered that Spitelout and Phlegma were given the orders to begin teaching weapons to the youngest trainees. The older students were to start dragon training immediately. Meanwhile, Astrid was to have competent dragon riders patrol the waters around Berk, particularly around their fisheries so that at least they would be stocked with seafood. If they sighted either Outcast or Berserker ships approaching, Stoick ordered with a dark look on his face, Astrid was to have the ships blown out of the water. No survivors.

The real problem, Gobber pointed out, was the lack of poultry, grain and iron ore to fashion into weapons. A combination of sickness and raids from the Outcasts had thinned their herds and the island yielded very little grain to begin with. Now that most villagers were preparing for war, there was simply no one who had the time to mine for raw iron or till the earth.

"We'll just have to do a little raiding of our own," said Stoick firmly.

"Or," Gobber said, shooting a concerned look in Hiccup's direction, "we could start trading."

Stoick snorted, "With who, Gobber? In case you didn't notice, the Berserkers are the ones who we trade with for most of our grain and iron and they're the ones we're fighting. None of the other tribes, even the Meatheads, will want to be allied with us once they find out the Berserkers are on the warpath."

Gobber rolled his eyes, "What about the Highlanders?" He scoffed at some of the villagers' gasps. "What? You act like we've never traded with them before. When Valhallarama was still alive, we'd—"

Even the mention of Hiccup's mother wasn't enough to make him look up. What did get a reaction was the feel of warm, familiar fingers sliding between his own. Without thinking, he jerked back and stepped away. He stared coldly at Astrid standing in front of him. Surprise rippled across her features. He had never pulled away from her before, Hiccup realized dimly, and he could see the realization on Astrid's face too. Her lips curled before her expression settled into an eerie calm once again.

"Hiccup," she said softly. "We need to talk."

"I don't see what for," Hiccup responded. "Aren't you busy planning your little war?"

"Hiccup, please," Astrid said. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

The sun shone brightly outside. It was a stark contrast to the dark, humid atmosphere inside the Meade Hall. Here, everything was calm and still. A shout erupted from the depths of the Meade Hall and Hiccup glanced back. Astrid shut the great door behind her.

Hiccup continued ignoring her. He folded his arms and stared out at the village spread below him. He and Toothless had helped out with the construction of many of these new buildings. Many of them, in fact, could not have been made without the help of Hiccup and the dragons. It wasn't so long ago that he was everyone's favorite; everyone wanted to see him or talk to him. Now…

"You don't want to be in there right now. No one will listen to you."

"Like you didn't listen when I told you to wait?" The words came spilling out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as his barb struck home. He half expected her to punch him. Then there was a beat and then she sighed. He hated that. He hated that she was so calm when he felt like such a scattered mess.

"That's not fair, Hiccup. I waited six hours for you to tell your dad. I didn't know where you were. I was worried about you; I was worried about Berk."

"But you should have trusted me!" he turned to her. "I told you I was gonna do it. I came back ready to do it. Instead, you fed me to a nest of hungry Terrors!"

Astrid shook her head, blonde hair falling across her light blue eyes, "How am I supposed to trust you when you don't talk to me? When you never tell me what's going on? You ask me to trust that you'll eventually come up with a solution, but we can't wait anymore. Sometimes you just have to act."

But Hiccup couldn't even focus on her words. He had kept his cool in front of the village but now that that they were outside, the emotion and the energy came bubbling out. "They're—they're up in arms, Astrid!" he gestured to the Meade Hall. "For the first time since my father's father last set sail—a real war! Are you happy now?"

Astrid folded her arms, mouth set, "What did you expect Vikings to do when they're being attacked?

Hiccup snapped, "We're not being attacked."

"We don't know that. We don't know whether we'll be attacked today, tomorrow, or if they'll never come because _you_ decided to gamble _our_ lives on the chance that Dagur will either die in his sleep or forget that we have dragons. And your plan of walking up to the Berserkers and asking them not to go to war with us will only end in a massacre. I can't support that."

"It doesn't matter that you didn't agree with me! You should have had my back!"

"Your _back _is all I've seen these past months! We used to have fun; we used to tell each other anything." Astrid's cheeks flushed red in her fury. Her fingers curled into fists. "Now you're always walking away from me to clear your head."

"I know that being a killing machine is in but you know what? It takes me longer to deal with my _conscience_."

"You shouldn't have to think about it so much, Hiccup." Her eyes fell to the ground. Her words were soft now, "Not _everything_ has to be this hard. You shouldn't need to overthink it. Some things should be simple."

"Killing isn't the solution to everything."

"That is _not_ what this is about!" Astrid's shout caused Hiccup to take a step back in surprise. After a moment's pause, her breath left her in a soft hiss, "I can't have this conversation with you right now." She turned and opened the door to the Meade Hall.

"No, let's talk now." Hiccup's voice was quiet and hard. "You didn't want me to think. Fine. You don't get to run away either."

"I'm a shieldmaiden, Hiccup." Astrid's back was still turned to him. Her voice had taken an odd quality—soft but restrained.

"How can I forget?" All the bitterness, resentment, weariness and frustration from everything—from the failed mission, from Dagur's rescue, from his friends' disappointment in him, from the Crowtooth's frank "milksop", from Kofri's implication that he wasn't good enough for her, and finally ending in the village's declaration of war—made his words as bitingly sharp as dragon's teeth. "You're the heroine of the village—a Valkyrie in mortal flesh."

"Stop it!" she whirled to face him. Her fists were clenched against her side. "I'm sick of you treating me like I do something wrong every time I come back from a battle. You are gonna have to accept that this is who we are and this is what we do. Remember the Hooligan motto? _Out of the flames, we conquer._"

"We used to kill dragons, but now we're riding them. Why can't this be different too?"

"We kill to survive. We kill to protect! That has never changed about us. I can't believe that you're even making me feel bad about this. You, of all people! Have I ever made you feel bad about doing something you love? Something that you're really good at, that you know, in your heart, you're born to do?"

Hiccup flinched as if he'd been struck. "Of course, I support you! I am proud of you! I've always loved that you were so sure about yourself." Then his face crumpled, "But, Astrid, I'm not like that. I'm not the golden boy everyone needs the chief's son to be. Sure, I trained dragons but somehow I screwed that up too. The Outcast raids are my fault, along with everything else. I'm Hiccup the Useless and you've always been out of my league."

Astrid slapped him. Hiccup had been hit before, usually in practice or fights, but never with such force and precision. He staggered back, as much surprised from the blow as from the sharp pain in his cheek.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say." She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed.

"Astrid..."

"No, shut up, Hiccup. I am not out of your league," she glared at him. Then Astrid's expression softened and her shoulders sagged. She whispered, "I really liked being with you."

"Liked?" Hiccup whispered back with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"But you're not what I need," Astrid shook her head fiercely. "I'm not what you need either."

He looked away from her and let out a heavy breath. There was a heavy, pregnant pause between them. Then Astrid took a deep, steadying breath. Her voice, when it came, was the same firm and no-nonsense that he'd listened to countless times over the years for problems great and small, for troubles that had no answers. All the same except for the slightest tremor. If he didn't know Astrid, he wouldn't have even noticed.

"Believe it or not, you are one of us." She stepped close to him but Hiccup could hardly lift his head to acknowledge her. Her hands clasped his, gentle and firm. "Just because you haven't killed anyone yet doesn't mean you're less of a Viking."

Hiccup shook his head. Astrid let go and punched him in the shoulder. At the familiar pain in his side, he made a halfhearted attempt to bat her fist away. Astrid drew away then and stared him up and down. "What are you looking at?"

"I see a strong leader. I see a true Viking—the greatest hero we'll ever know. I see my best friend. I hope one day you'll see that too." With a final smile and a gentle touch on his shoulder, Astrid left him.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the story! Hopefully this answers some of the questions from Historian1912 and other guest reviewers (namely, what's Hiccup's motivation for letting Dagur live and what's going on with Hiccup and Astrid?). Let me know what you think!

I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)

Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	4. A Worthy Dance Partner

Disclaimer: I don't own Hiccup or Merida, obviously. I'm not making any money off this. Both characters and the movies they come from belong to Dreamworks and Disney, respectively. If you really want to see something to blow you away, go watch the movies. Then think about these two interacting. Then you'll see what I mean.

* * *

**CROSSING THE HORIZON**

**A Worthy Dance Partner  
**

* * *

Merida's sword whistled as it swung to her opponent. The wooden blade made contact with a satisfying crack. She stabbed again and again, relishing in the fierce burn in her limbs. After a few minutes, she spun low, tried to come up underneath the guard of her opponent—and fell in an ungraceful heap in the practice courtyard. Merida groaned, sitting up, "This cursed dress…!" The beautiful gown was now sweat-stained and soiled from her tumble. Merida had loved the gown when her mother had given it to her for her birthday. It was a rich green gown with loose sleeves embroidered in silver. Best of all, it wasn't too tight. Merida could move in it unlike the blue prison she wore for her betrothal feast last year. But now, Merida realized that while she could dance, eat, and walk in this dress, running and fighting were out of the question.

Merida glared up at the practice dummy. It was just as well that there was no one in the courtyard. Her birthday feast was still in full swing though it had already been an hour since Niall's ballad and her subsequent escape. Though the walls of the castle were thick, Merida could hear music, laughter and the occasional line of Niall's new ballad streaming from the great hall. Embarrassment still paralyzed Merida. The princess had been unable to face any of her guests and she'd been frustrated that she couldn't. Her birthday feast was supposed to be the time she showed the lords how much she matured. Yet here she was—playing in the dirt like she was ten years old again.

The princess stood and batted at the dust on her gown. "It's all right," she muttered, trying to convince herself, "No one's been turned into a bear. No one's declaring war. You're doing just _fine_." The dirt clung stubbornly to her skirt no matter how hard Merida hit it. She continued brushing it off, growing angrier every minute. "Just… get… off!" she hissed.

The sudden bright blue glow of a wisp arrested her movement. Merida stayed very still as the ghostly flame flickered in and out, its unearthly light bright in the gloom of the night. After a few moments, she held out her palm and the wisp descended to her hand. The princess chuckled.

"Finally come to visit me in the castle, have you?"

The form rippled in her hand. It was a movement she had grown very familiar with in the year past.

"You know I can't come out with you tonight." Merida fought to keep a stern expression, though she couldn't help the longing in her voice. Tonight would have been a perfect night to follow the wisps and see what new ruin or peak they lead her to.

Wisps had begun appearing in increasing numbers to Merida ever since the incident with the Mor'du. At first, it had startled the princess (and Angus), but the wisps almost always disappeared when she came closer. But with each ride through the glen or swim in the river, the wisps had grown friendlier and bolder until finally they started showing Merida secret paths, hidden pools and even ruined castles. Merida had come to view them less as harbingers of fate and more as curious, helpful and always unpredictable creatures. She could never tell what they would show her and they always disappeared when someone else was with her.

The wisp flickered and its eerie, almost imperceptible whispers rose like an ominous wind. It made Merida wary. The wisps usually didn't insist without good reason.

"My mum will _kill _me if I abandon my own—"

The clop clop of hooves striking cobblestone caused the princess to look up in the gloom. The wisp disappeared instantly. She'd been so concentrated on the wisp that she hadn't even noticed her surroundings. The first thing that arrested her attention was the horse. It was a beautiful animal, just a shade shorter than Angus, with fine bones and long elegant legs. Though it lacked Angus's girth, something in the way the animal carried itself let Merida know it wasn't a dainty palfry; it moved with the confidence that only the fastest, fiercest horses in a herd possessed. Its calm, dark eyes flicked to her curiously then rolled back to the man in front of it. Merida was surprised to see that it was Andres and even more surprised to find that he wasn't leading the horse by bridle. The animal was following the Roman all on his own.

Merida stood up, unconsciously gripping her wooden sword tight in one hand. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Merida wasn't sure if her tone was devoid of scorn, but she'd been caught off guard. She'd been so overcome by her own frustration that she'd completely forgotten about the Romans.

It had been many months since Merida had seen the Roman General stationed beyond Antonine's Wall. The Romans had been one of the Highlands' enemies in times past. Still was, if you asked any of the lords, but that was more bluster than anything else. The last great Roman incursion happened in Fergus's youth when he could barely swing a sword straight. The clans had been crippled by their petty feuds and rivalries, but they had the advantage of knowing their terrain well and the foolishness of a legate who liked to wear a distinctive golden helmet that made him a particularly irresistible target. A general soon came to replace the legate who lost his helmet and his head (courtesy of the then-young Lord Dingwall). But it was the warriors from Clan DunBroch that the newly replenished Roman forces first faced. Everyone expected a bloody battle, but instead Titus proposed a truce with the Highland clans beginning with Clan DunBroch. When Fergus's father asked about the Empire, Titus had famously said, "Damn the Emperor. I serve Rome. As I see it, there's more in common between two enemies on the battlefield than they have with their emperors and their lords. We'll keep to our sides and that'll be the end of it." And so it was. Even when the Viking hordes swept through the Highlands and nearly devoured all the clans, Rome stayed south of Antonine's Wall.

Nearly 15 years had passed since the unification of the Highlands and in that time, the king and queen slowly came to develop a tentative relationship with their neighbor to the south. The years had turned Titus's hair snow white and harsh winters carved deep lines around his face, but his dark eyes were always alert and watchful. By the gracious invitation of the king and queen, he and a small retinue had even come to visit a few times in the past for important celebrations or social events. Merida liked the grizzled general, though she knew many of the lords did not. Maudie often said that Romans were treacherous, manipulative and condescending but Merida had never seen these qualities in Titus. He was practical and blunt to the point of rudeness, but Titus was true to his word. Elinor called him the honorable eagle—the only outlander worth treating with. Nowadays, the only Romans to be found in the Highlands were the few messengers Titus trusted to carry his even fewer missives to the king.

Until now.

Andres stopped to stare at her. His eyes swept her up and down, from the dirt in her skirt, to the sword in her hand to the fierce expression on her face. Merida's face heated but otherwise she was proud that she didn't flinch. The Roman shrugged and pointed to his horse. Merida's brow furrowed and unwillingly, she stepped close. She didn't like the Roman, but the animal was a thing of beauty.

At her approach, both man and beast stilled, watching her warily. Merida held up her hand cautiously. She kept her eye on the animal; it huffed but otherwise remained still. She approached it slowly, like she would a wild animal, and gently lifted a hand. The horse lifted its muzzle and sniffed her hand curiously. It rolled its eyes to Andres who remained motionless, watching Merida. But Merida was only paying attention to the horse. She hummed to the animal a low song she knew Angus liked to hear. The horse pricked its ears and huffed before butting its head against Merida's hand. Delighted, the princess stroked the animal's face, fingers sliding against a glossy coat.

"You are a beauty, aren't you?" she crooned. "Where did you come from? Och, if only I had something to give you." As if understanding her words, the animal sniffed her curiously all over, exactly the way Angus did when he was wondering if she had any hidden treats. Merida laughed. "Oh, I wish I could ride you."

Andres released a breath Merida hadn't even realized he was holding. The sound drew her attention and she blinked up at the Roman who was watching the girl and beast. They were closer now than they had been at the feast, with only the horse between them. Despite the gloom, or maybe even because of it, she allowed herself to trace his features—dark, serious brows slightly curved in surprise, the sharp cheekbones and jaw, the lips slightly parted. It made Merida proud that she'd been able to confound him. He probably thought she was a delicate thing who was scared of horses. "I've never seen a horse like him before. Where did you find him?"

Andres shrugged.

Merida rolled her eyes. "We'll get along much faster if you stopped pretending to be dumb."

His response, when it came, was slow and measured, "I understand your tongue, but speak it ill."

"Mhmm." Starfall bumped into her middle again. She stumbled but regained her balance quickly. "Why were you walking him?"

There was a moment's pause then Andres said, "Your stablemaster was drunk and his boys were worse at their cups. I had my man take care of our horses, but Starfall needs a steadier hand."

"So you take care of your own horse?" Merida was impressed despite herself.

"Starfall is the fastest and cleverest horse I've ever ridden." There was no sense of arrogance in his voice; he said it in the way a man might say that the sky was blue. "He's been my constant companion. I—" Andres shook his head before placing a hand on Starfall's muzzle as well, just above Merida's own hand. "I like taking care of him."

In spite of how he'd acted earlier in the evening, Merida smiled at that. "I take care of my horse too. Angus has been with me since I was very young. We grew up together."

"Did you always know I spoke your language?"

Merida smiled curved into a smirk, "Only after you gave General Titus's present and I spoke to you."

Instead of being insulted, Andres nodded like he acknowledged the hit, "Well spotted." His lips curved into the faintest grin as he turned his attention to Starfall who butted against him. It was odd. Here, in the darkness, with a stranger not only to her but to her land and people, she finally felt like she was being seen—not as a princess, but as Merida.

The princess didn't understand why, but she liked seeing him smile. It made him seem less strange and intimidating and more like someone she could like. "I bet Angus and I are faster than you and Starfall," Merida said boldly then blinked. Did she actually say that? Was she actually considering spending time with a Roman?

He gave her a long, considering look, face close to Starfall's muzzle. "You'll find I excel at games, Princess," he said, "I play to win."

"I've never liked losing either."

Andres's eyes snapped to her face, surprise and something strange, some emotion Merida couldn't name, in his eyes. His breath left him in a huff, "Children don't like losing." He started walking again and Starfall followed obediently.

Merida blinked at his abrupt change in attitude and pursed her lips. "Scared to find out who's the better rider then?"

"Starfall is a warhorse," Andres called back, still turned away, "not a child's plaything."

A burst of anger sparked inside Merida, a reaction more intense than she'd expected his words to incite. "Angus is not a plaything and I am not a child!"

"You act like one," he said. "All bluster and fire; no control, no foresight. Just like your _sword-fighting._" He said the last word with just the smallest amount of emphasis that implied a depth of derision.

"I challenge you to say that to my face!"

"I believe I just did."

"Not with words, you _coward_. With a sword."

"That would be inappropriate," said Andres, pausing in his walk to bow to her. "Princesses are delicate." The Queen herself could not have achieved a more tranquil face and tone than his even as his words hit Merida's pride like darts.

Merida tossed up an extra wooden sword laying on the ground with her foot and threw it at him. He caught it only inches from his face. Starfall whickered softly. "What was all that about delicate?" Merida asked, easing into a offensive posture.

The Roman eyed her for a beat then turned away. Merida thought he was going to ride off in high dudgeon, but the Roman simply undid his cloak and put it on his horse. When he turned to face her, there was a subtle shift in his movements—like a predator beginning to circle his prey. Merida felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. He was not a very tall man, like her father Fergus, but his physique and his movement suggested tightly wound energy like a snake about to strike. The Roman eased into her little practice arena and tested the wooden blade with a few swings. "Perhaps not so delicate, after all." His lips quirked showing a flash of white, even teeth. "The lords will want you fit for birthing strong young boys to succeed them."

Merida attacked with a shout. He blocked her every swing, eyes calm. For a few minutes, the only sound was that of their wooden blades clashing. Merida had never faced an opponent like him. In a world where stronger, bulky men dwarfed Merida, she often used her size and speed to great advantage. But the Roman was equally fast, she realized, perhaps even more so. He moved well and was quick to realize patterns or feints. He made Merida work for every blow. Despite herself, Merida found herself beginning to smile. He was a rare and worthy opponent.

"Your footwork is excellent," Andres said as he circled her.

She maintained the distance between them, a small smile on her lips as she matched him stance for stance. "I could say the same."

"But you should be looking at my face and not my sword," said the Roman before lunging forward. Merida parried the blow with some effort. Her wrist and arm ached.

"I don't care for your face," Merida panted. "It's the sword I'm worried about."

"You worry about the wrong thing." His voice, deep and even, drifted like smoke over the arena. It wasn't an overtly powerful voice but it thrummed in the air for all the lack of volume. "Faces tell you so many things. For example, your eyes narrow before you strike." He parried Merida's thrust then swung his sword in a savage horizontal cut that Merida had to duck followed by a horizontal cut aimed at her legs. Merida jumped to avoid the last cut.

Reluctantly, Merida raised her eyes to meet his. He held her gaze. His eyes were the color of smoke—dark, gray, and unfathomable. She could read no secrets in them. But his face was familiar. She was positive she'd never met him before but something in the way he carried himself, in the outline of his face, reminded her of somebody. A thought tickled the back of her mind but it disappeared when Andres left an opening. Her blow landed.

"Looks like I got you to dance with me after all," she grinned.

"You may regret having me as a dance partner."

"Oh, Roman, you couldn't keep up with me if you tried."

"It's a pity." Andres took a few steps back and reassessing her. Something in his expression, something darker seeping into his features.

Merida felt a warning toll in the back of her mind, but she ignored it in favor of her rising ire. "That you're about to get knocked off your feet by a delicate princess?" asked Merida, pressing her attack. "Aye, it is. Truth hurts, doesn't it? I promise I won't tell General Titus, though."

"I thank you for the courtesy," Andres laughed as he stepped neatly aside to dodge her blow. "Do you think you will be allowed to continue once you marry one of your… fine… lords?"

"You think I'm going to stop so that I won't offend a man's ego? The way I'm offending yours right now?" Merida asked, attacking with a brutal forward thrust. He turned her aside easily and spun to face her. Merida was almost knocked off balance, but he didn't attack. Instead, he watched her ready herself with a strange expression in his eyes. He wasn't amused anymore.

"My wife was a little like you." Merida could not tell what the expression was in his eyes. "She was the finest hand I've ever seen handle a blade."

"You?" Merida's sword wavered. She hadn't thought he was married. "Married a lady who could fight so well?"

"Yes," he replied, sliding into an offensive posture she had never seen before, "but I quickly realized she was more warrior than wife."

"What does that mean?"

He responded dryly, "She used her sword in every fight. But different situations require different weapons." He lunged forward so fast; Merida narrowly avoided missing it. The wooden blade whistled inches from her cheek.

Merida grunted as she knocked his blade away from her, "So what happened to her?"

"She died." He lunged forward again and this time the blow hit her shoulder. For a moment, the pain was so intense it knocked the breath out of her and she stumbled backwards.

Merida said through gritted teeth, "I rather liked your wife." Her shoulder was throbbing from the blow. She hadn't been hit that hard since… she couldn't even remember. She felt her grip on her sword weakening, and she tightened her fingers. She swung a blow and he blocked her, their swords locked. Merida realized her mistake right away. She knew better than to engage in a test of strength with a man; those had never ended well for her.

"Do you really think that any self-respecting lord would let his wife run around like a boy with a wooden sword pretending she's a warrior?" he asked, staring down at her. Damn him, he wasn't even panting for breath. "A lady's duty is to serve her lord and tend to his heirs."

"I should think that any lord I marry would not dare tell me what I can or can't do," Merida spat. He shoved her but Merida was expecting that. She slid against his blow and used it to circle around him.

"Spoken like a queen. But you're not a queen, are you?" He began a series of quick jabs that forced Merida back step by step. Soon, she was backed against the crumbling castle wall. Her bruised shoulder felt weak and watery but still she lifted her sword. Before she could complete the motion, the Roman grabbed her right wrist and slammed it hard against the wall. Merida cried out in pain and her sword clattered to the ground. "You're just going to be a lady."

Merida did the only thing she could think of. She swung her left fist at his face. The Roman let go of her just in time. Merida darted for her sword, but the Roman's blade stabbed deeply into the crumbling castle wall and arrested her dive. She spun for the opposite direction, but his hand struck the wall and pinned her in. Trapped, she glared at him and he surged in so close she felt his breath against her ear. "You can fight, you can scream, you can avoid the lords all you want, but all you are, all you'll ever be, is the wife of some dimwit who thinks himself important," he said, voice low and penetrating. "Beneath all the declarations of love and courtship, all you are is a way to the crown and a way to get an heir."

Merida felt the pounding in her heart, blood surging through her veins, galloping, whispering a hundred different things she couldn't understand. She felt shock at his rough handling—his dominance—knew she'd never been treated this way by anyone; she felt a hopeless, helpless fury at his words whiting out every logical thought process in her brain until all she wanted was to hurt him, smash his face against a rock, claw his eyes out; and she felt heat coiling low in her belly, a sensation she'd never felt before and somehow, in her heart, Merida knew things would never be the same again.

When Andres withdrew, he did so slowly. The dark curls slowly pulled back, then the long line of his jaw and then his lips were in her line of sight. An instinct pulsed in Merida that made her draw a breath and when she looked up, he saw his eyes register her reaction. He paused, long enough for Merida to shove him if she wanted, but she didn't. She remained frozen in place.

"You're just a child," he said, lips quirking. The Roman backed away from her. He retrieved her sword and presented it to her with a bow, "I don't think I've said it yet but… Happy birthday, Princess."

It was as if the sword snapped her out of a spell. The princess snatched up the weapon, cheeks flaming. "How dare you?" she hissed. "You're just a messenger; you know nothing!" Only the smallest thread of self-control restrained her from striking him right now. "You may have beat me with a practice sword, but I dare you to stay that to my face when I have my bow and arrows. I've fought against the demon bear Mor'du and my father in combat. I'm not afraid of you!"

The Roman backed up a few more steps to avoid the wild swinging of her sword. His face showed a trace of amusement though his hands were once again held up in surrender. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?" he asked, throwing her words back in her face.

"Listen, you pompous jackanape," she pointed the sword straight at his face. "I've won the right to marry whomever I wish. My fate is in my own hands. Mine! Not with any of the clan lords!"

Surprise rippled through his features followed by a look of intense speculation. His mouth opened but they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Merida!" The Queen was hurrying towards them. She looked anxious and Merida cursed. She knew what her mother was seeing now—the princess in a dirty gown accosting a messenger from an esteemed guest. "And—Lord Andres! I apologize. I didn't realize…"

The Roman bowed to Elinor and said in their own tongue, "I was just giving the princess my personal greetings."

If Elinor was surprised by Andres's fluency in their own language, it didn't show in her face. "Of course," the Queen said, face serene. "We thank you for your warm regard." Though her expression was placid, Merida knew that expression on her mother's face. She was thinking quickly. Elinor eyes traveled from Andres, who smiled in return, lingered especially long on Starfall then skated to her own daughter who was still clutching the sword. "Merida," the Queen hissed, "lower your sword."

Andres watched Merida's fist tighten around the sword with a small, secret smile on his face. "Your daughter is a talented sword fighter," Andres said. "I look forward to getting to know her better."

"And you as well," Elinor returned in kind. "Always a pleasure to welcome General Titus's son."

Merida's sword clattered to the ground.

* * *

"I don't know what you were thinking," scolded Elinor, as soon as the door shut behind them in the tapestry room. A low fire flickered in the hearth revealing a warm, cozy scene. The mended tapestry depicting the entire royal family and the new tapestry depicting Merida and the queen as a bear hung on opposite walls. The Queen's things were neatly put away in their drawers, cabinets and trunks. A small, glass-paned window was open to let in the cool night air. It would have soothed Merida were it not for the Queen's ire. "Practice sword-fighting with Lord Andres!" Merida opened her mouth to respond, but Elinor bent down and started batting at the dirt stains on Merida's dress. She ignored Merida's protests and tugged sharply at the seams coming undone. "He's a dangerous man and not to be insulted. Why would you tell him you could marry whomever you want?" She spun Merida around and pushed her to the basin full of water. "Go wash your face."

"Dangerous," Merida scoffed. "He's just a messenger."

"Merida…" the Queen said softly. "Didn't you see the crest on his saddle? He's Titus's son."

"I don't care! He's the one insulting me. He said that all I am is a way to the crown and a way to ensure an heir."

"So you told him you were free to marry whomever you wished?" Elinor's brow rose and her lips pursed as Merida splashed water all over her face. "Merida, you can't just tell people that."

"But why not? It's true, isn't it?" Merida asked, face now clean. She turned to her mother whose face was tight with worry.

"Of course, it's true," Elinor sighed. She offered Merida a soft cloth. "But he wasn't entirely wrong."

Merida's outstretched hand froze before it reached the cloth. "What do you mean by that?" Merida asked, voice low and hand sinking.

"You will marry one of these lords," Elinor explained gently.

"But, we agreed that I'd marry the one I loved," Merida began, the words slipping in their haste to get out of her mouth. It was the freedom she wrested for herself over a year ago, the truth and hope she clung on to throughout the endless lessons, the countless dinners, meetings and the letters and the decisionmaking, throughout every awkward stroll or dinner or dance with all of the young lords. "We agreed that I'd marry the one who won my heart."

"One of the young lords will win your heart," the Queen said, stepping closer. Her voice was calm and soothing, the way it was when she wiped away Merida's tears over a broken toy or a lost game. She began drying Merida's face. "He will love you. You will bear his children and rule his house. You will be a fine lady, a wonderful wife and an amazing mother." Then her expression changed and she added, "I don't see how any of this merits a sword in Lord Andres's face."

"Is that all I'm going to be, Mother?" Merida asked, her face carefully blank. "Is that my fate?"

"What's wrong with that fate? That was my fate and your grandmother's," she said, "We are happy."

"And my archery and riding out with Angus, will that be taken away from me?"

"I'm sure your husband will let you do those things," Elinor responded, brushing Merida's hair back from her face, "But you may be too busy, dear."

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed the story! For the guest who complimented me on the historical accuracy, an extra enthusiastic thank you and a big hug! I worked hard to ground this fic as much as possible in realism even though I'm pretty much dancing with historical eras. I've researched Scottish geography, Viking raids, the end of the Roman Empire and God knows what else. It's been fun but also a lot to pack in to enrich a story. To Shadowmaster, Valka/Valhallarama is truly dead dead in my story. I can't make any promises about Corona and Arendelle (as this fic is super long already without involving two other kingdoms), but watch out for mentions :)

I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)

Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


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